A Hole in the World
by Medieval Liz
Summary: Part One of the 'Sleepers Series' - A seemingly harmless field trip rips a hole in the fabric of the Hardy Family's world.
1. How it Happened

**Title: **A Hole in the World

**Author:** Medieval Liz

**Rating: **K+ (Right now it's okay for most ages, but it may change as the story progresses. Will adapt rating with the story.)

**A/N: **This is going to be the corner stone for a series of six HB stories. If it is well recieved I will continue with the series as I have sketched out. However, if I get only negative feedback or people aren't responding to it at all, I'll just write it and keep it to myself. P Also, several chapters will make reference to stories written by fellow HB FanFic author Phoenix. If you're interested in reading more of her work, she may be found under the account name "Phx". References to her work will be credited at the end of the chapters as well as a link to the story in question.

**Disclaimer: **The usual: I do not own the Hardy Boys. It's just a little fun.

* * *

**_

* * *

_****_Thursday, September 24, __2:45pm_**

The phone started ringing, startling Fenton away from the papers on his desk. It took him a moment to realize it was the phone in the hall, not his office, and he quickly stepped away from the mahogany desk.

"Fenton Hardy," he answered as he picked up on the fourth ring.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hardy." A man's voice on the other end said pleasantly. "This is Mr. Woodrow from Bayport East Elementary."

"Yes, my sons' principal." Fenton acknowledge.

"That's correct. First, let me assure you that nothing has happened and your boys are not in any trouble." The other man chuckled softly.

"That's always good to hear," the father snickered as well.

"Mr. Hardy, the reason I'm calling is to give you a heads up regarding your eldest, Frank. As you may, or may not, be aware of, last week we had State Sponsored Standardized Placement Tests. They're just regulated exams that gauge a students aptitude and evaluate whether they are being stimulated enough academically. Frank scored well above the state average and we are considering advancing him to seventh grade."

Fenton felt a surge of pride and smiled. "Frank has always been incredibly gifted and I'm sure he would excel skipping ahead a grade. But of course it is something that would have to be discussed with my wife and Frank."

"Of course, Mr. Hardy, and Frank will be sent home with all the information you may require to make the decision. However, that is not the purpose of my mentioning the exams. It seems that Frank, as well as several other students from the various grades, has been invited to participate in a University Study at NYU this coming Saturday."

"What kind of Study?"

"A Psychologist by the name of Dr. Sarah Paulson is running a study on children prodigies in different fields; music, science, math, computer science. Because of her funding by the government she was given the results of the of the exams and was impressed with Frank's results particularly in the science portion of the exam."

"Have you mentioned this to Frank?"

"Yes, he was approached during his first class this afternoon as well as another of this classmates. Phil Cohen has also been extended an invitation."

"This is considerable short notice, Mr. Woodrow."

"I am aware of that, Mr. Hardy, and it's why I have made it my responsibility to call the parents and answer whatever questions they may have. The school is making transportation preparations for the eleven children that have been invited. A bus will be leaving the school parking lot Saturday morning at 7:15am, returning shortly before 5pm depending on traffic. The study will run from 9am until 3pm and the university will be providing lunch for the participants. Frank will be sent home with a permission slip for you and your wife to look over and sign, as well as contact information for Dr. Paulson at the university."

"How many students overall will be participating in this study?"

"From BE Elementary, only eleven. But from Bayport there will be almost forty and from other schools across the state. I believe the number will be close to several hundred over the next couple of weeks. Those that do participate will have their name credited in the study and will be eligible for follow up studies and possible University scholarships depending on the findings of this study."

"My son is in the sixth grade, Mr. Woodrow. A little early to be thinking of post secondary education, don't you think?"

"Yes, of course. I just wanted you to be aware of what benefits this study will have to offer your son, Mr. Hardy."

The phone in his office began to ring. "I can assure you, Mr. Woodrow, that this is something my wife and I will discuss at length with Frank this evening. If I have any more questions I will contact you in the morning."

"Please do, Mr. Hardy. Enjoy the rest of your day."

"Thank you. Good-Bye."

HBHBHB

**_Saturday, September 26, 6:55am_**

Eleven year old Frank Hardy fidgeted anxiously under his mother's scrutiny. She adjusted the zipper on his jacket and brushed a few strands of his dark hair off his forehead. "Mom, please," he hissed in agitation. "We're in public!"

Laura Hardy smiled at her eldest son. "Really, I hadn't noticed. Do you have everything?"

Frank rolled his eyes and ran a hand over his hair, causing the strands to fall back onto his forehead. "Money, book to read on the bus, Dad's cell-phone number, change of clothes, and yes I'm wearing clean underwear. Can I go now before I die of embarrassment?"

With a chuckle Laura took a step back. "All right. But remember, your Father and Joe will be at the University to pick you and Phil up right at three-fifteen. Make sure you've changed out of your school clothes before going out to Coney Island."

"Yes, Mom. Can I go now? Please?"

"All right, all right." With a quick kiss to the top of his head, Laura sent her son off. "Have fun, and mind your manners!" She called after him as he ran to join Phil in the line-up to get on the bus.

Standing off to the side, Mrs. Cohen laughed. "Seems just like yesterday they were clinging to our hands, terrified of being away from us for even a minute."

Laura smiled. "It's the age. Frank will be twelve two months."

"My goodness," Mrs. Cohen shook her head in amazement. "Where does the time go?"

"Tell me about it. He's getting more and more independent every day, but is it so wrong of me to want to hold on to my little boy just a little bit longer?"

"That's the problem, Laura," She sighed, watching the children climb onto the bus. "They're not little boys anymore."

"No, I suppose they're not."

"Join me for a coffee?"

"I'd love to."

HBHBHB

**_Saturday, September 26, __3:10pm_**

To say he was excited would be an understatement. Joseph Hardy was unbuckling his seatbelt before the sedan had stopped in front of the large building on corner of Washington Place and Mercer Street. The Psychology Building of NYU was a four story brick building and milling about our front were dozens of kids waiting to get onto a big yellow bus.

"Slow down, Joe." Mr. Hardy chuckled in amusement at his youngest son. "Frank and Phil aren't going anywhere."

"But it's Coney Island, Dad!" Joe started to open the passenger door. "They've got a new rollercoaster and it's the last weekend before they close for the season. Can't I be a little excited?"

"Well, maybe just a little."

"Very funny," Joe stuck his tongue out at his father as the two climbed out of the car. Crystal blue eyes scanned the group of kids from Bayport and after a moment Joe pointed to a raven haired boy. "There's Phil. Hey Phil! Over here!"

Phil excused himself from the group and hurried over to where Joe was waving his hands in the air. "Hey Joe! Good afternoon, Mr. Hardy. Thank-you for letting me go with you guys."

"Hello Phillip," Fenton smiled at the boys politeness, "and you're most welcomed."

"Where's Frank?" Joe demanded eagerly. "If we leave right now we can beat traffic."

"He's still inside. He was talking with Dr. Paulson about his experiment."

"Maybe we should wait for him," Mr. Hardy teased. "Give him an hour or so to finish up."

"Dad!" Joe exclaimed, mortified. "If we wait, we'll be here until the next century! You know how Frank can get when talking geek."

Fenton laughed. "All right, let's go inside and get him. Lead the way, Phil."

"We were on the second floor," Phil was telling them as they walked into the building. "Dr. Paulson, and her staff, just let us do our own things and they watched. They'd ask questions and stuff, but for the most part they were-"

"There he is!" Joe shouted, pointing to the elevator that opened up in the lobby. Frank and a middle aged red haired woman were engrossed in conversation as they stepped off the car. The boy saw his brother, friend and father and waved to them as he started to step away from Dr. Paulson.

The doors were barely sliding closed behind the pair when a trio of masked men burst from the stairwell door. One pushed the women hard against the closed doors while another grabbed Frank around the waist, pinning his arms to his side, and clamped a gloved hand over his mouth!

"Frank!" Fenton and Joe shouted, the elder Hardy running toward his son as the third masked man grabbed Frank's feet and were moving quickly back toward the stairway door.

Joe only had eyes for his older brother as Frank struggled to get away. Joe ran behind his father, sprinting around him when the remaining goon stepped in Fenton's way. Joe kept an eye on Frank as he was carried through the doorway and quickened his pace. He heard his father call out to him a moment before he burst through the door after the kidnappers.

The stairwell was dark, save for the glowing yellow emergency lights that cast an eerie glow. He paused a minute, straining to hear anything but the stairway was frighteningly quiet. "Frank?" He called, hoping for an answer. "Frank?"

From below there came a faint hiss of pain then Frank shouting. "No Joe! Go ba-" The shout was cut off and all pretences of stealth were abandoned as footsteps thundered down the stairs.

"Frank!" Joe started down the stairs, he little legs carrying him as fast as they could. As he grabbed onto railing to propel himself further a powerful hand gripped his wrist and he was suddenly flying the rest of the way. He crashed painfully into the wall, his head bouncing off the bricks. Dazed, he saw a door open, the masked man that threw him down the stairs running though and into the parking garage beneath the building.

Past the retreating man Joe saw his brother being carried into a waiting brown van. Just before the door to the stairway closed, the brother's locked gazes; dark eyes showing concern for a hurt younger brother, blue eyes revealing the fear for an older brother.

And then the door closed.

* * *

A/N: All reviews are welcomed, and as I have never written the Hardy Boys as younger children before, constructive critisism will be welcomed. Thanks for the read, and enjoy!

Liz


	2. Deja Vu

_**Chapter Two: Deja Vu**_

_Saturday, September 26, 3:25pm_

Alone in the shadowed stairway Joe was fighting the rising panic. He didn't like the dark. It was one of the few things he was actually afraid of. That, and being alone. Now he had to content with both fears. Although there was some light coming from the emergency lights, the stairway was starting to close in around him. If it wasn't for his concern for his brother, he probably wouldn't have been able to find the courage to move.

As it was, he was just struggling to his knees when the door to the floor above him opened with a resounding bang and heavy footsteps steadily made their way down toward him. Resting on his hands he watched when the third masked man rounded the corner with rising trepidation. He liked strangers as much as he liked the dark.

Beneath the ski mask there was a small smile on the man's lips, and without second thought he walked passed Joe and toward the door.

Something inside the youngest Hardy snapped, and with a soft growl he lunged for the man's knees. "Give me back my brother you coward!" The sudden weight around his legs caused the masked man to stumble to the floor with Joe's scrawny arms wrapped around him.

Pale green eyes regarded the boy curiously. "Your brother, huh?" He shifted his weight, testing the grip of the little boy.

"Yes, my brother." Joe sneered. "Why'd you boneheads grab him anyway?"

"Look Kid," With ease the masked man grabbed Joe's arms and pried them away from his legs, picking Joe up as he stood again. "We're not going to hurt him. And you can tell your old man that. When he wakes up that is."

"When he…?" Eyes wide with fright, Joe flailed and kicked the man with all he was worth. "Bad enough you steal my brother, you had to hurt my Dad too? I hate you! I don't know you, but I hate you anyway!"

The goon pushed Joe back away from him, forcing him to sit on the steps behind them. "Listen, Kid, I understand this is hard to understand right now, but I promise you your pop's gonna be fine. So is your brother. We're just going to borrow him for a little while. We're not going to hurt him, he's too valuable."

"Damn straight he is!" Joe kicked again, the heel of his shoe catching the man's shin. "So just let him go before I really kick your butt!"

The man's hand reached out and Joe flinched thinking it about to strike him. Instead, he cringed as the hand ruffled his blonde hair and the man chuckled. "You got balls, Kid. Frank's lucky to have a brother like you. I'll make sure you get him back. Just not right now. So sit still before I have to hurt you, okay?"

The threat was not made idly, and reluctantly Joe nodded. In a flash, the man was gone out the door to the garage leaving Joe alone in the dimness again.

HBHBHB

_Sunday, September 27, 6:30pm_

The house on the corner was an uproar of activity. All day police, reporters, friends, family, everyone was coming and going trying to offer support or help find any information about Frank's kidnapping. So far, nothing had turned up and that was causing more than a few people to lose their calm.

"What do you mean you've found nothing?!" Fenton Hardy was shouting into the receiver of his office phone. "Joe gave you a description of the van for gods' sake! The red light cameras have to have… I know it's a big area, Sam… Like hell you understand! This is my son we're talking about! Now bloody well do something right and find me that van!"

The phone slammed down on its cradle and Joe flinched from where he sat on the stairs. He had never heard his father yell at his partner like that before. It scared him.

Fenton stormed out of his office and started for the living room when he spotted Joe on the stairs. His expression softened instantly and he was now walking slowly to sit beside his son on the topmost stair.

Joe watched him, his movement a little stiff. His fight with the masked man had hurt him more than he was letting on, Joe could tell by the bruise on his father's temple and the faint limp. "No news?" Joe asked in a whisper.

A strong arm pulled Joe into a half hug. "We'll find him, Joe. I promise you we will."

"But when?" Joe felt a tightness in his chest and a stinging at the corner of his eyes. "I was right there, Dad! I heard him, saw him, and I couldn't-" He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. "I let him down, Dad!"

"Oh Joe! No, you didn't." The embrace tightened in an effort to chase away the uncalled for guilt. "This is not your fault, son. You couldn't have done anything differently."

"I could have fought harder!" Joe exclaimed, anger replacing his grief. "I could have chased after them instead of sitting there in the dark like some… some…"

"Child?" Fenton offered sympathetically.

" Yea! I'm ten years old, I should have been able to stop them from taking my brother!"

"What does that say about me then? I'm four times your age and I couldn't stop them either."

"That guy beat you up, Dad, it's not like you didn't try."

"And if you had tried, they could have – and would have – hurt you. How do you think your mother would feel if you were hurt right now?" Joe didn't answer him, just looked at his big toe that was poking through his sock.

"Listen to me, Joe," Mr. Hardy started softly. "You have given us something that we can use. We know the vehicle they were driving and we know they're not going to hurt your brother. That means we will find him and we will bring him home. You just have to have faith in me and everyone else that is looking for him. All right?"

Joe nodded slowly, not trusting his voice right now. He felt his father kiss him on the top of the head and hug him comfortingly. It worked, sort of. After a minute, Joe was able to speak passed the overwhelming emotions he was feeling. "Dad? Do you think it was them?"

"Who, son?"

"**_Them_**," He hissed, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye. "The Nightingales."

There was a stunned silence until Fenton drew in a shuddering breath. "No, Joe, it wasn't them. They're still in prison."

"They could have got out," there was a tremor in Joe's voice, once he was embarrassed to let his father hear. His father had thought him past the nightmare of five years ago, but the situation was bringing it all rushing back.

"_And if you make any noise at all, I will slit your throat, drink your blood and then go get your brother… do you understand?"_

"He told me he'd get Frank, Dad," Joe whispered, shaking in his father's arms.

"That was a long time ago, Joey, you're safe now-"

"But Frank's not."

Fenton had no response to that. He just held his youngest as tightly as he could and let him cry. The old horrors of those few days suddenly burning very raw in his memory. Five year old Joey, beaten black and blue at the hands of a pair of demented killers. He could only pray that was not the case this time.

"Joe, I don't want to scare you, but if it was the Nightingales do you really think they would have left you alone with just a little bump on the head?"

_Grasping the chain that was fettered to Joe's ankle, he pulled the protesting child towards him and then grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up off the bed. The child struggled weakly but as the enraged man continued squeezing his throat the protest was short lived and as Joe felt the world turn a sickening shade of yellow and felt his eye lids close, he knew he was going to die._

"Would it helped if I made sure they were still in prison?" Fenton asked after a moment had passed. He felt Joe nod in his arms and reluctantly let him go. "Go lay down for a bit, Joe. I'll let you know what I find out."

Joe let his father help him to his feet and retreated to his room.

Fenton watched him go with a heavy heart. There would be no consoling the youngest Hardy, not until his brother was home safe and sound.

"Mr. Hardy?" A strong voice drew his attention from the closed bedroom door and Fenton looked down the stairs at the young Officer Riley. "I think we've got something."

* * *

A/N: & reference to Phx story "The Fun House". Reference used with authors permision.

Reviews welcomed!


	3. Questions & Answers

_**Chapter Three: Questions and Answers**_

_Sunday, September 27, 6:45pm_

Laura Hardy was lost. The sofa on which she sat was foreign to her, the living room alien, the tea cup in her hand unfamiliar. Just the morning before there had been laughter filling the room, brightening the house and making it a home. Today, it was cold and empty. Just a place that was missing its soul.

She wanted her son back!

A half dozen uniformed officers milled about the room going through her husband's files and information they had compiled over the last twenty-four hours. Their voices were hushed and she caught a few of them casting apprehensive glances in her direction. They were afraid she would break. And if she had been a lesser woman she would have, but she was a Hardy. She knew how to keep a strong front.

A powerful hand rested gently on her shoulder and she looked up into the face of her husband. "Anything from Sam?"

Fenton sighed and shook his head, moving around the arm of the sofa to sit next to Laura. "Sam has dropped everything, every other case we've got right now, and is exhausting himself chasing after a van that may be the only lead to finding Frank. And what do I do? I go ballistic on him and ream him out for something he has no control over."

"He'll understand, Fen," Laura said soothingly, her hand caressing his arm. "He's a good man and knows you're just frustrated with the lack of… well, everything."

"I'm beyond frustrated," he said grimly, rubbing a hand over his weary face. He looked into her light blue eyes and, for the first time in their life together, she saw despair in his eyes. "I've got nothing to go on, Laura. I don't know how to find our son."

That was not what she wanted to hear. She needed him to be strong, to be her rock, to tell her that he would move heaven and earth to bring Frank back home. But here he was, falling apart when she needed him the most. She pulled him to her, embracing him in the hopes of chasing away the demons that told him their son was lost to them.

She knew what caused them. His guilt at being unable to protect their children. After Joey went missing five years ago, Fenton had sworn to protect his sons from the monsters of the world. For five years he had been successful. Yet three monsters were able to steal his son from right in front of him and he was powerless to stop them.

"Then pray, Fenton," She whispered in his ear. "When all other roads end, pray for guidance. It will come to you when it's meant to. Believe it with all your heart, or you will falter when your family needs you most of all. Pray, Fenton. Just pray."

The officers inside the living room watched the heart wrenching moment discretely. Con Riley had known the Hardy family for several years now, ever since he had assisted the detective recover his youngest from the Nightingales. They had collaborated, unofficially, a few times since then, but he had always hoped that he would never have to work in such a capacity again.

He cleared his throat after a minute. "Mr. Hardy-"

"Fenton, please," The older man corrected kindly, pulling away from his wife to give the officer his full attention. "You said you may have something?"

"I'm not sure exactly what we've found," Riley reiterated, handing the detective a folder he had been holding, "and I thought a fresh pair of eyes might be able to make sense of it."

Fenton started flipping through the pages as Con explained what they were.

"Witness accounts of Frank's abduction, and your own testimony Sir, made it clear that they were there specifically for your son. They waited for a precise moment to grab him and were even prepared for you. It got us thinking, Sir… how did they know Frank would be there? Or you, for that matter?"

"I don't follow you," Laura said, looking at the papers over Fenton's shoulder.

"Well, his trip to NYU, Ma'am. The invitation to the study came Thursday afternoon, only two days before his kidnapping, and even then there was no guarantee you would allow him to attend on such short notice."

"And the plan to take Frank, Joe and Phil to Coney Island was only made the night before." Fenton added, starting to catch on to Riley's train of thought. "We didn't even tell the chaperones until Laura spoke with them yesterday morning."

"So how could they have known where and when they would be able to make their move?" Con leaned over and pointed to a list of names and numbers on the paper. "These are the names of those invited to the University and their test scores on the state exam they took. Every single one of them scored incredibly high, some – like Phillip Cohen – so high that to call them genius' wouldn't be far off. Normally, this information isn't available to the public. Dr. Paulson got them because her study is government funded. Not all that surprising, when you think about it but what is, is this:

"Dr. Sarah Paulson has been conducting this study for almost fifteen years in different states across the US. And, in the last eleven years, one hundred and sixty-two of these children ranging from ages eight to fifteen have gone missing. Frank makes one hundred and sixty-three."

"Hold on," Laura glanced up in shock. "You're telling me that all these missing kids, and no one notices anything?!"

"Look at it this way, Laura," Fenton said in a low growl. "Mr. Woodrow said that Dr. Paulson invited close to two hundred students to participate in the next few months. Say she does this three times a year, that's about six hundred kids a year. Eleven years of study and you suddenly have almost seven thousand names. Factor in different States, different ages and sexes, all of a sudden you're looking for a minute number of missing kids in the tens of thousands that go missing every year in this country."

"Dear god!" Laura drew in a ragged breath. " What about the kids, Con? How many of them were ever found?"

"Most of them just showed up at home a few days later. Some a couple of weeks. The longest was gone two months."

"You said most," Fenton took his wife's shaking hands in his, needing her comforting touch as much as he knew she needed his.

Officer riley hesitate but knew he couldn't sugar coat it. " Most did come home, yes. But, of the one hundred and sixty-two, twenty-eight are still missing."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the shortness of the chapter. As always, reviews welcomed! 


	4. The Investigation

_**Chapter Four: The Investigation**_

_Tuesday, September 20, 11:00am_

The interview room on the third floor of the Police Precinct was empty except for a few chairs and a table. The large window next to the door showed the busy hallway outside. Sam and Fenton were led to the room where they waited for the Detective in charge of their case. Neither were in the mood to sit and stood against the wall.

There came a weary sigh from next to him and Sam glanced at Fenton from the corner of his eye. The older detective hadn't slept in days, the dark circles under his eyes were evidence of that fact, and Sam wondered how Fenton was still standing let alone functioning. _'It's his son,_' he realized. _'He'll kill himself to bring that boy home.'_

"Mr Hardy? Mr Radley?"

A man entered the room and approached the waiting pair. He walked tall, to the full extent of his five feet ten inches, and with the air of authority. His features with chiselled, his nose a little crooked, and his sharp green eyes shone with a determination. His olive skin was accented by his raven hair and thin moustache. "I'm Detective Brian Younger with the 131st precinct." He offered his hand first to Fenton and then to Sam. "I'll be heading the investigation for the NYPD, as well as acting as liaison between our department and the FBI Team. They should be arriving momentarily."

"Have you learned anything new, Detective?" Fenton asked.

Brian cleared his throat nervously under the seasoned investigator's scrutiny. "As a Detective yourself, Sir, I'm sure you know the importance of the first forty-eight hours. Unfortunately, I don't have to tell you want it means since we are well past that deadline."

"As a Detective," the sarcasm dripped from Fenton's voice, "I know that's a polite way of telling me my son may be dead. As a father, I just want to know what bastard has my son and what you are doing to get him back!"

"Mr Hardy," Brian began evenly, surprising Sam by keeping his cool as Fenton practically screamed in his face. "I can assure you that everything is being done to find your son. I understand how upsetting this situation is but-"

"You understand?" Fenton looked the young man over. "Do you have any children of your own, Detective Younger?"

"No, but-"

"Then you cannot possibly begin to fathom how it feels to watch as your son is kidnapped right in front of you!"

"Perhaps not entirely," Brian agreed. "But I do have younger siblings, Mr Hardy. One brother the same age as Frank and a sister only a few years older than that. When their mother died I was there to help raise them and teach them and love them. So yes, I can understand how it may feel to have one of them suddenly ripped from me."

Sam regarded the Detective with a hidden smile. Not many people had the nerve to stand toe to toe with Fenton Hardy when his temper got a hold of him. Not only had this man held his own ground, but it appeared as though he had managed to somewhat placate the worried father.

Before Fenton could respond, Brian flipped open a notebook and continued. "Now, Mr Hardy, from your other son's account, one of the men spoke to him. From his recollection of that conversation we can conclude that the men that took Frank have no intention of hurting him."

"How can you be certain?"

"Because of the care in which they took him," A new voice answered.

Joining them was an older man, easily in his late fifties and bearing a striking resemblance to Detective Younger. "Adam Younger," He introduced himself, producing a badge and offering it to Fenton. "I'm a Criminal Psychologist with the FBI. I've been working on the profile of Frank's abductors since I was given the case."

Adam took the ID back from Fenton and caught the look Sam was giving him. "My middle son," He said with a faint proud smile, gesturing to Brian.

"Let's talk," Adam motioned the group to the table and the quartet moved to sit down. "Mr Hardy, the FBI extends its gratitude in exposing the connections between dozens of unsolved missing persons cases. Apparently the discovery, made by yourself and the Bayport Police Detectives, of this information has caused a great stir across many states. We now have leads on several cold cases."

"What's being done to find my son, Agent Younger?"

"I have my team interviewing each of Dr Paulson's lab assistants and TAs and by tonight we'll hopefully know if any of them were involved with this, though I highly suspect not."

"What makes you say that?" Sam asked.

"The repercussions," Adam opened his briefcase and retrieved some notes. "This project is being shut down, not just by the University but by the government as well. All of a sudden, these people are all out of a job. Dr Paulson, especially, has the most to lose from this. Not only have years of work and research suddenly been lost to her, but now she has the stigma of several dozen missing children associated with her. I doubt anyone is that self-destructive that they would risk years of their life's work by participating in something so volatile."

"I don't follow," Fenton said with an exasperated sigh.

"Before Frank," Brian picked up from his father, "All of the other missing children just disappeared. Some never made it to the study, some never made it home. A few were seen going to bed one night and just gone the next morning. Frank was taken in front of several witnesses and is the only one taken directly from the study site itself."

"Why?" Sam shook his head. "After eleven years of successful, unsolvable abductions would they suddenly change their MO?"

"They panicked," Adam responded grimly. "Something about this one, this situation, forced them to alter their modus operandi. We believe, Mr Hardy, that it was you."

Fenton looked shocked. "Me?!"

"Your statement," Brian said, flipping a few pages in his notebook, "says that at the last minute you decided to pick up Frank at the University instead of letting him come home on the bus."

"We were going to go to Coney Island," He said quietly, deep in thought. "They were closing for the season and I'd been gone most of the summer on cases. It was suppose to be the four of us; Myself, Frank's friend Phil Cohen, Joe and Frank."

"Our best guess," Adam met Fenton's eyes to draw him back to the conversation, "Is that they planned on taking him at some point later, but realizing that once he joined up with you he'd be lost the them, the went with plan B. Riskier yes, but the results were still the same."

"Except now there are witnesses," Sam breathed.

"Precisely," Adam nodded.

"But that makes Frank a liability," Fenton said with grim realization. "They might just kill him and lay low."

"No," Brian assured him. "They wanted him badly enough that they took the risk. He's too valuable to them, they told your boy Joe that."

"But why?" Fenton growled, his role as father outweighing his role as investigator. "What do they want from my son?! Three days and there's been no ransom!"

"None of the missing children were ever ransomed, Mr Hardy" Adam said gently. "From what I've gathered, there is something specific these people are looking for. To look at the hundred and sixty-two kids that were taken they are all the same. They all scored exceptionally high on their standardized tests with, each one excelling in math and science. But something else is setting the one's they've kept apart. Gender isn't an issue, nor is age."

He retrieved a file from his briefcase and laid it out on the table before the others. " The one missing the longest is a young lady named Talia. She went missing nine years ago at the age of eight. Then there's Simon, a fourteen year old boy two years ago. Karen, six years old, five years ago. Michelle, eleven years old, seven months ago. California, Texas, Kansas, Washington, New York, New Jersey, kids from all walks of life, all classes. There is no set pattern other than their test scores. But there are hundreds that scored the same that are being sent home days to weeks later."

Sam glanced over the open file and the pictures of the kids inside. "So we figure out what it is about these twenty-eight and we possibly figure our who it is that has then. And who has Frank."

"That's our theory," Brian said. "At least for the time being. Most of these kids showed up at home no worse for wear about five days later. It's not exactly best case scenario, but given the history of the other case, in about forty-eight hours we'll know more where we stand. Chances are, Frank will just show up on his own."

Fenton scowled at the others at the table. "So you're telling me, that I have to go home and tell my wife and ten year old son that we can only hope that these people who have Frank just give him back?"

"We have nothing else to go on, Mr Hardy." Adam was as frustrated as Fenton, that much was apparent. "Not unless Dr Paulson or one of her team isn't on the level."

"Then let me talk to them, damn it!" Fenton roared. "You cannot expect me to just sit back and wait for my son to come home! God only knows what he's going through! He needs me to bring him home!"

Sam put a hand on his partner's, his friend's, arm in an attempt to calm him. "Fenton-"

"Mr Hardy," the sympathy in Brian Younger's voice was evident, "As a civilian, you know you're not authorized to interrogate potential suspects. However, as a professional courtesy I will be happy to have a copy of the transcripts of the interviews faxed to you."

"So you're cutting me out?"

"Go home, Mr Hardy." Adam said, stuffing his papers back into his briefcase. "As one father to another, right now your family needs you there with them, not chasing red herrings."

"My family needs me to find my son."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting and update. With my work schedule, updates can be anticipated on Sundays, Mondays & Tuesdays.

As always, reviews welcomed!


	5. 120 Hours

_**Chapter Five: 120 Hours…**_

_Friday, October 02,1:25am_

The houses on elm street were dark. Those residing inside had long ago turned in for the night. A crisp wind blew across the night sky, scattering the turning leavings across the pavement, and rattled a few windows.

A flickering yellow light glowed in the big bay window of the house on the corner. Curtains drawn back away from the solitary candle that would burn until it was extinguished at dawn. A ritual that had been repeated every night for almost a week. A silent testimony to the family awaiting the return of one of its own.

Five days.

One hundred and twenty hours.

Still counting…

HBHBHB

_Monday, October 05, 10:00am_

The shrill ringing of the phone snapped Fenton from the restless sleep he had found on the sofa in his office shortly after dawn. Sleep came sparingly to him lately, and the few hours he did manage every few days filled him with a guilt he couldn't describe.

He moved sluggishly to the phone on his desk and picked up the receiver. "Fenton Hardy."

"Mr Hardy, it's Detective Younger."

Instantly, all thoughts of sleep were banished from his thoughts. "Did you find something Detective?"

"Dr Paulson and her people all check out," The answer came after a moments pause. "None of them had anything to do with Frank's kidnapping, Mr Hardy. The FBI are going back to the beginning of the disappearances. It's going to take some time, Mr Hardy, but we are going to find your son… Mr Hardy? Mr Hardy… Fenton?"

The receiver had dropped from his hand as all strength fled from him. No one on Dr Paulson's was involved.

There were no more leads.

Fenton Hardy felt numb.

HBHBHB

_Saturday, November 21, 9:30am_

Joe Hardy raised his hand and knocked softly on the door to his father's office. He waited briefly for the acknowledgment from within and slowly opened the door. Peeking his head inside, he saw Fenton motion him to enter.

"Hi Sam," Joe said quietly.

"Morning Joe," putting a few papers into a folder, Sam smiled at Joe as he stepped further into the room.

"What can I help you with son?" Fenton asked, looking up from his computer.

"Mom got called in to work," Joe explained, "And can't take me to the mall like she was going to. I know you and Sam are busy with your case, but I was wondering if you could drop me off? I'd take the bus back and be home before lunch."

"You know I don't like you off on your own, Joe. Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

Joe felt a hollowness in his stomach. "T-tomorrow?"

"Your mother had the weekend off, Joe. Maybe she could take you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Frank's birthday day," Joe whispered, a look of disbelief directed at Fenton. "I wanted to pick him up his present so when he got home he would know I remembered him."

Fenton paled as Joe spun and fled the room. He could hear his son run up the stairs and the door to his room slam shut. Horrified at himself he looked at Sam. "Oh god! I forgot…"

HBHBHB

_Thursday, December 24, 8:00pm_

The tree was decorated, the presents were packed beneath its branches, and the smell of newly baked Christmas cookies filled the air. Laura sat on the sofa, her back resting against the arm, with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. From the stereo, Frank Sinatra sang Christmas carols though she found it hard to listen to him.

"Found them," Joe said as he entered the living room, reverently carrying a box of candles in one hand and a book of matches in the other. "I thought green would be nice this time, since that's Frank's favourite color."

Laura smiled softly at her youngest son as he took one of the tall, dark green pillar candles from the box and fixed it to the candle holder in the bay window. "A wonderful idea, honey."

He struck one of the matches and held it to the wick. In a few seconds it caught and was burning brightly. He watched it for a minute then turned to his mother and she could see the moistness at the corner of his eyes.

Without a word she sat up and held her arms out to him. He dropped the box of candles and matches and ran into her embrace. She held her sobbing son for a long time, a few tears of her own joining his as she finally heard the music playing in the background.

_I'll be home for Christmas,_

_You can count on me. _

_Please have snow and mistletoe _

_And presents under the tree. _

_Christmas Eve will find me, _

_Where the love light gleams. _

_I'll be home for Christmas,_

_If only in my dreams._

HBHBHB

_Monday, February 15, 10:20pm_

The suit jacket was the first thing to go when Fenton entered his bedroom. The last of the guests had finally left and Gertrude was settled back into her old room. He tossed the jacket onto the floor and slumped onto the edge of the bed.

He was still sitting there when Laura entered and closed the door behind her. She eyed the jacket on the floor and hung it up without complaint. Standing in the closet doorway she unzipped the long, black skirt she was wearing and stepped out of it.

"Joe finally asleep?" He asked, bending over and unlacing his shoes.

"Poor thing," Laura said with a shake of her head, unbuttoning her dark blouse. "He had a rough day."

"I think we all have."

She looked at him over her shoulder. "It was a lovely service, though. I think they would have approved."

There was crisp nod from him. "Gertrude had spoken with them on the matter a few times since Dad's last stroke."

The look on her face was all he needed to know what she was thinking. "Fenton-"

"I'm all right, Laura." He assured her with a half smile. He rose from his place on the edge of the bed and walked over to his wife, wrapping his arms gently around her waist. She leaned against him and he buried his face in the golden strands of her hair. "We were preparing for this, Laur. Dad had three strokes since Christmas. We knew it was coming."

"Maybe, but it doesn't make it any easier." She reached up and stroked the side of his face with the back of her hand. "The accident was unexpected, Fen. None of us saw it coming. To loose both of them like that…"

He sighed. "They went together, Laur. It's what my parents would have wanted. I just wish-"

Hearing the distress in his voice, Laura turned in his arms and put her own around his neck. "What do you wish?"

"That I could have found Frank before they died."

HBHBHB

_**Tuesday, February 16, 5:50am**_

_The cigarette burned crimson in the shadows above the dormitory. The man watched the sleeping figures below with a aggravated scowl on his face. "So that's it? Some bureaucrat wakes up this morning and decides to shut us down?"_

_The man in the grey suit wore a scowl of his own. "It's not that simple anymore. There is no more enemy."_

"_Bullshit!" The first man snarled, turning an icy glare to the man in the grey suit. "They sign a few pieces of paper, say all the right words, and we're suppose to believe that they've suddenly had a change of heart?"_

"_The world is changing," The man in grey pointed to the twenty-nine beds in the room beneath them. "This is no longer necessary."_

"_It is! More so now than ever before!" The smoking man shook his head. "You of all people should know what those people are capable of! Our work here is critical! It's-"_

"_-Over." The man in grey said evenly. "You have no say in this matter, not anymore. The order's come from the Man himself."_

"_Really, and just what does the Man say?"_

"_They go home. Each and every last one of them. They forget they were ever here, we go on to the next assignment."_

"_They may forget, but do you think those looking for them will just leave it at that." The smoking man tossed the remains of his cigarette onto the floor and extinguished it with the sole of his shoe. "Especially the ones in New York? Do you have any who that last one belongs to?"_

"_I'm well aware of all this," The man in grey reassured his companion. "And it's all being taken care of."_

"_Younger?"_

"_Reassigned by midday. One of our own will be taking over the investigation."_

"_And Hardy?"_

_There was a pause before the answer finally came. "We're giving him what he wants."_

_The smoking man stared at the other in shock. "Are you insane?! That could undo all the work we've put into his kid!"_

"_The preparations are already being made." The man in grey said grimly. He watched as the lights turned on automatically in the dormitory beneath them and the twenty-nine bodies began to rise. "We have four weeks to get them ready. See to it."_

_The smoking man watched the man in grey leave the small observation room and turned back to watch his charges below, and angry frown once again crossing his features_

"_It would be easier to just put a bullet between their eyes."_

* * *

A/N: Two chapters in one night! I'm on a roll!! This chapter jumps around a bit, and I hope it wasn't too confusing.

Reviews encouraged!


	6. Ollie Ollie Oxen Free

_**Chapter Six: Ollie Ollie Oxen Free**_

_Monday, March 25, 5:30pm_

Spring was starting to show in New York city. The snow was melting, the days were getting longer, and crime was on the rise. Yet the offices of the 6th precinct of the NYPD were unusually quiet. It would be the one thing Brian Younger would remember most about that day before all hell broke lose.

It started with the phone call from his father.

"Have you been watching the reports?"

Brian cradled the receiver between his chin and shoulder, sorting through the files on his desk. "I've been catch up on paper work, Pops. Not a lot of time to catch the news. What's up?"

"It's not on the news," Adam informed his son. "At least not yet, but its come across the wire and I thought as the lead Detective-"

"Pops, the point please?"

"In the last four hours, ten of those missing kids have been found."

"What kids?"

"The one's I was looking for until the FBI decided to force me into early retirement last month!"

Brian nearly fell out of his chair. "What?!"

"Ten of them, Brian! Not a hair missing on their heads. The one in California was found during a raid on a drug den. After three years a ransom demand finally came on that little girl in Texas. Another was found wandering the side of I-90 outside of Erie, Pennsylvania."

"Bloody hell!" Brian was on his feet, shouting across the pen to his partner. "Cameron! Get on the horn and find out what you can about these kids showing up!"

"What kids?" The other detective, a muscular blonde man in his mid thirties, shouted back.

"The ones connected with the Hardy case last year."

"On it."

"And pull in all the grunts we had working with us then, the shit has just hit the fan!" Brian went back to the phone. "How did you hear this, Pops?"

"I may be 'retired', but I swore I wouldn't stop until we found these kids. Now, out of the blue, they're just coming out of the wood work. I'm coming down there."

"You're a civilian now, Pops."

"And you're still heading this goddamn case!" His father yelled over the phone. "I know this case inside and out. You want to figure out what's going on, you let me finish what I started!"

"All right," Brian conceded. "The question I got though, is why I'm hearing this from you and not the Agent that took over the case with the FBI."

"That's not the only question, Son, but it's one for another time. Right now, let's just figure out what the hell is going on."

HBHBHB

_Tuesday, March 26, 3:25am_

Adam Younger stood with his hands resting on the table, looking down at the papers spread out over its surface. "So how many does that make in the last twelve hours?"

Cameron looked over at the twenty-nine pictures on the cork board on the wall. "Fourteen. Seventeen if you count the three with ransom demands."

"Something spooked them." Brian rubbed his forehead in a futile attempt to banish the headache that had been screaming in his head for the past couple of hours. "The kidnappers are panicking and getting rid of the kids."

"No," Adam shook his head, walking over to the cork board and scanning the pictures of the missing children. "If that were the case then we'd be finding corpses, not kids…" The older man let his thought trailed off. It hit him all at once and he spun around to face the other two. "They're not scared, they're done! Whatever they wanted these kids for, it's finished. They're letting them go now that they don't need them anymore!"

"Why not kill them," Cameron said grimly. "I mean, these kids are witnesses to whatever's been going on for the last god knows how many years. They're going to spill first chance they get."

"No," Brian pulled a file from the top of the pile on the table and opened the folder. "Peter McKay, age sixteen, he was missing for three years. He was the first one found in the drug raid in San Diego. Not a scratch on him and he has no idea how he got there. He remembers going to bed in his home three years ago and then waking up this morning in that crack house."

"Are they all like that?" Cameron asked.

"We don't know," Adam shook his head. "Peter's is the first victims statement we've got. But we have the interviews from the one hundred and thirty-four that weren't kept. The stories are all the same. They remember being taken, but after than it's a big blank until they showed up at home."

"We got three more!" A uniformed officer burst into the room and handed Detective Younger a trio of files. "Two in Florida, one in Jersey."

Brian quickly scanned the reports while the others waited in silence. "There's still no pattern," He said after a minute. "One was found in a Casino, another set off the silent alarms in a department store, and the third was picked up in a homeless shelter. The only similarity in all of these is that they're being found within twenty miles of where they were last seen when they first went missing."

"So there are nine still unaccounted for." Adam turned back to the cork board and the pictures there.

A heavy silence filled the room, one filled with both unease and hope.

HBHBHB

_**Tuesday, March 26, 7:50am**_

_The black light burning overhead cast an eerie glow over the sparse room. An iron frame bed rested against the wall, a space heater hummed unheard at the foot of the bed, and egg crate foam mattresses stapled to the wall muffled the noise to the outside world as a small stereo blasted heavy metal over the room's occupants_

_Wearing a hideous clown mask, illuminated by the UV light hanging overhead, a man standing a little under six feet affixed a pair of silver handcuffs around the battered wrists of the shaking boy of twelve that lay on the grungy mattress. As a second pair of cuffs were secured around his ankles, the boy futilely tested the restraints on his wrists that held him captive to the frame of the bed._

"_Stop," The mechanically distorted voice came from behind the mask again, freezing the prisoner in place. "Do I need to sedate you?"_

_Unable to speak through the grey tape over his mouth, the boy just shook his head. The Clown reached down and held the youth's chin between his gloved fingers, eliciting a cringe and whimper from the boy, and turned the boy's head slowly to the side. His thumb brushed against the bruising on the side of young face. _

"_It's not so bad," The voice sounded again and the glove hand patted the youth's cheek. "You're not going to be hurt again, as long as you just relax and go with it. No more biting the guys giving you food. No more screaming when we take off the tape to give you a drink. No more trying to escape when we take you to the bathroom. All right?"_

_Dark brown eyes met pale grey ones obscured by the mask and, after a minute of staring at one another, the boy nodded his acquiesce. _

"_Good. Now, we'll tell them where you are soon enough. You just have to do your part. Okay? You just tell your old man to back off. You'll tell him that, won't you? Tell him to leave it alone, or we'll be back for you and that brother of yours. Understand?"_

_Another nod was the only response._

"_Twenty-four hours and this'll all be over."_

_Then the clown was gone, leaving the boy alone in the darkness with Metallica pounding in his head._


	7. The Informant

_A/N: The follow chapter has a little higher rating than the previous ones. There's a little more profanity, and I hope that doesn't offend anyone. One of the characters is a little rough around the edges and cusses a lot. -Liz_

* * *

_**

* * *

**__**Chapter Seven: The Informant**_

_Tuesday, March 26, 7:35am_

The coffee tasted like sludge, but it was keeping Fenton on his feet after almost twenty-seven hours without sleep. At forty-two, he wasn't exactly old, but he definitely wasn't young enough to pull all-nighters any more. He would have tried to get a few hours of sleep around dawn, but the stake-out had finally paid off and he had spent the past several hours with the Atlantic City police department.

Pulling his sedan into the parking lot of his hotel he was looking forward to sleeping and then heading back to Bayport. Joe's birthday was only four days away and he had promised his boy he would be there. After everything that had happened in the last six months, Fenton was pleased that he would be able to celebrate with his youngest son.

He was surprised by the amount of messages waiting for him at the front desk, but the one from Detective Younger back in New York definitely caught his attention over the ones from his wife. Exhausted as he was, he had now thoughts of sleep as he started to dial the number that had been left.

It was answered on the third ring. Missing Persons, Detective Younger speaking.

"Detective, Fenton Hardy returning your call."

"Glad you could get back to me, Mr Hardy."

"It would have been sooner, but I've been on a case." Fenton's heart had started to race at the sound of the other mans voice.

"Yes, your wife told me you were in Atlantic City." There was a small pause before Brian Younger continued forcefully. "Mr Hardy, there's been a development in your sons case."

"What kind of development?" Reluctant to get his hopes up, Fenton listened the Detective explain the events of the past twenty-hours. The breath caught in his throat as he realized the implications of what he was being told. "Frank-"

"Nothing yet, Mr Hardy, but both my Father and I believe that we should hear something in the next day or two."

"I'll be there in three hours," Fenton said eagerly. Frank was coming home!

"Mr Hardy, perhaps it would be best if you went home to your family. There's nothing you can do at the moment. Nothing any of us can do but wait and see."

"You are not cutting me out this time, Detective Younger!" Fenton growled. "Frank is my son and I'll be damned if I just do nothing! I want to go over the reports on the other kids. Maybe I can spot something that you've over looked. Can another pair of eyes really hurt at this point?"

There was a pause on the line before Brian spoke again. "All right, Mr Hardy."

"Three hours, Detective. I'll be there then."

HBHBHB

Tuesday, March 26, 8:45am

It happened an hour later.

Melanie Simone was not a well educated woman, but she was proud enough to know when she was getting the raw end of a deal. Nineteen years old, and a prostitute by profession, she was use to the rough stuff her John's could be in to. But being ganged up on by some douche-bags was drawing the line.

The five story, white brick building, housing the 78th Precinct of the NYPD, was a building she was well acquainted with. Several nights she spent cooling in their holding cells, but this early March morning saw her walking up the front steps of her own free well. Something she thought would never happen.

The desk cop, a young rookie not much older than Melanie, looked up at her when she walked to the desk. Her nose broken, two black eyes, split lip and a distinctively hand shape bruise on her throat left little to the imagination as to why she was there.

"Miss-"

"I need to see Rodriguez," She interrupted in a hoarse voice. It hurt to speak, but she knew what she had to do. Sergeant Sandra Rodriguez was the only cop Melanie trusted. Perhaps it was because she was a woman, or because she had been in Melanie's shoes as a teen, but something about the Sergeant had most of the girls working the streets of Brooklyn trusting her. She would know what to do with this information.

"If you're here to report an assault-"

"Rodriguez," Melanie snapped, "no one else, got it?"

The hooker walked away from the desk and sat down in one of the chairs in the waiting room. Her fingers dabbed at the dried blood on her lips. She wasn't an easy woman to intimidate, and a heavy hand usually had the opposite effect. Yes, she had been scared for her life when the men in the clown masks started beating her. Even more scared when they threatened her and started to strangle her.

Most things she just turned and looked away. On the mean streets of New York city you knew how to keep your mouth shut. But there was an unwritten rule about where you drew the line. What it would take for you to break that silence. For Melanie Simone, it was killing kids.

HBHBHB

_Tuesday, March 26, 11:20am_

The interrogation room was brightly lit, the glare of the lights making the white cement walls seem even whiter. The table was occupied by a black and blue woman, the surface littered with cigarette butts and old coffee cups. Inside the room hidden behind a two way mirror, Brian Younger watched the woman intently.

By her own admission, she was a hooker, and though that may make it hard to accept her story as credible, but one look at the bruises and marks on her beautiful face was enough to convinced the seasoned Detective. Beside him, Fenton Hardy fidgeted anxiously. A hand rand over his dark hair, a nervous habit that belied the calm exterior the Private Investigator projected.

The door to the interrogation room opened and Sergeant Rodriguez entered the room with Detective Cameron.

"Mel," the Sergeant let Cameron take the only other chair, "this is Detective Terrance Cameron from the 6th Precinct over on the Island. I need you to tell him exactly what you told me earlier, all right?"

Melanie took a last drag on her cigarette and extinguished it in the ash tray. "He cool?"

Rodriguez smiled at the street weary teen. "Yea, he's cool."

"Cool."

"Miss Simone," Cameron's voice was steady as he leaned forward in his chair, "Will you please tell me what happened?"

"So I get a call this morning, little after two AM maybe," She began, her voice scratchier after hours of talking. "The beginning of the week is slow for me, so I could use the dough. I hook up with this guy, he's one of my regulars. Always has me calling him Bruce though he doesn't look like no Bruce if you ask me."

"Any idea what his real name is?"

"Not my business." She shrugged. "I get paid to do what they want. If he wanted me to call him St. Jude I would."

"Fair enough," Cameron smiled reassuringly. "So what happened when you got together with 'Bruce'?"

"Bruce likes to party. Booze, coke, speed, most the time his so high by the time I get there I can charge him for a few hours with maybe twenty minutes of work. This time, he was stone cold sober. Ain't never seen that before,. But hey, maybe he's been going to AA or something."

Melanie stopped while she reached into her bag and retrieved another cigarette. Lighting it casually she took a slow, long drag before continuing. "So I get there, and he's sober. It ain't our regular spot and he tells me he's moving up in the world. There's this music playing in the back of the place really loud. Heavy metal shit that's more noise than music. Whatever, right?

"We go back to a bedroom, past this door that I can hear the music coming from behind. It's got a peephole drill through it and a dead bolt on the outside. I start getting this really weird vibe, and when I ask Bruce about it he gets all excited. Has me look through the peep hole and tells me he's hit the big time, making a name for himself. Got paid fifty grand to baby-sit some cop's kid. And sure enough, there's this kid inside this room, chained up to some piece of shit bed."

Obviously nervous, she lit another cigarette with the still glowing end of the previous one. "I'm cool with a lot of stuff, but I ain't kidding when I say nearly lost it. I got little sisters back home. So I mean, I get it, you know, wanting to get back as some Pigman –no offence- but to go after a kid? That shit is beyond messed up."

Cameron managed to keep his face expressionless. "Could you see what the kid looked like?"

"Yea, kinda. He had this black light in the room, the kind that make it really dark and white stuff glow really brightly? It was dark, but messed up through the peep hole, but I could tell the kid was a boy. Dark hair, looked like he was sleeping."

What happened next, Miss Simone?"

"He's all fired up," The cigarette crackled as she inhaled deeply on the filter. "We get to the bedroom and the guy won't shut up. He's going on about the guys that paying him are at the top of the food chain. Big wigs tossing the little guy a bone, I guess, making Bruce feel all kinds the big man. He tells me that he'll get a Quarter Mil to ice the kid if word comes down from Atlantic City. He told me that to impress me, but shit! Turning tricks is one thing, but I know enough legal to know the kid bites it after I know about it I go away as an accessory. Ain't no way I'm going down for that sicko's payday! I even told him as much and went to get the hell outta Dodge."

"He do that to you?" Cameron nodded to her face.

"Doesn't have the balls, trust me," She sneered, her hand shaking so bad she couldn't keep her cigarette steady. "No, the Big Boys had come to check on him. Guess they didn't trust their little patsy, and can't say as I blame them."

"Did you get a look at them?"

She shook her head. "One was huge, easily six six, maybe six seven. The other, six two. Never saw their faces. They had on these masks. Clowns, like the one from that Steven King movie. The full head ones that cover all of it, not just the face. But they sure as hell saw me. Did this to me while telling me to keep my mouth shut. That I'd end up dead in some dumpster if I breath a word. Next thing I know the big one's got his hand around my throat and choking me. I pass out and when I come to I'm where they said I'd be. A couple blocks away in a dumpster. I came straight here. Sandy always said if us girls got into trouble we were to come see her."

The interrogation room was quiet for a moment as Cameron digested what he was hearing. In the room beyond the mirror, Fenton was now visibly shaking and Brian was wondering if he'd have to keep from going through the mirror to get at the woman. They're was so much circumstantial information, but they still didn't have that one piece that would confirm their hunch.

"Mel," Sergeant Rodriguez rest her hands on the edge of the table, staring down at the young girl. "Did you hear any names? The cops perhaps? Or why they had his kid?"

Putting out the cigarette, Melanie nodded. "Yea. Not exactly sure on the name, but as I was blacking out I heard one of the clowns say something. Something like Marty."

"Marty," Cameron asked. "You're sure about that?"

"I thought I was dying," She rolled her eyes. "Course I'm not sure. It's a name I've heard before, I know that. Marty, or something that sounds like that."

"Hardy?" Rodriguez raised an eyebrow. "Could it have been Hardy?"

"That's it!" Melanie exclaimed, eyes wide with recognition. "They said: 'Hardy's moving on Atlantic City. Kid's as good as dead.'"


	8. The Rescue

_**Chapter Eight: The Rescue!**_

_Tuesday, March 26, 2:10pm_

There was an air of urgency in the Laundromat on the corners of Sackett Street and Hicks Street. It took everything he had inside to keep Fenton from running across the street and down the alley to the basement suite that his eldest son was reportedly inside. He was a spectator in this scenario, Detective Younger making it painfully clear that Fenton was not to step outside the Laundry unless called.

So he watched from the large windows as Brian led the SWAT team into the shadows of the alley. Detective Cameron was left behind with Fenton and Adam Younger, his radio crackling with static as he listened in to what was happening across the street.

Adam stood beside Fenton, a hand coming rest reassuringly to the anxious father. "Brian is a good cop, Fenton. He won't do anything to jeopardize your son."

Fenton nodded. "I know, but I can't help feeling like I should be the one going in." He looked over to the older man, noticing absently that Cameron was listening to them as well. "Six months today. It's been exactly six months since he was taken and I couldn't find him. I'm suppose to be the best, and I couldn't even find my own son when he needed me. I can't begin to imagine what he's been going through all this time."

"You shouldn't feel guilty," Adam frowned. "These people calculated everything. They were meticulous, covering their tracks so perfectly that it's no wonder that we've had nothing to go on for months. It was sheer luck that we had anything at all. And now…"

There was a tone to his words that the investigator in Fenton picked up on immediately. A mix of anger and doubt echoed in the words meant to comfort. Hearing it in the other man's voice brought a flash of realization that he felt it too. "It's a little too convenient, isn't it?"

"I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth," Adam gave him a wry grin, "If it means we get your son back, that's all we should care about."

Fenton nodded and looked back out the window. "Then why do I feel like the floor is going to fall out from underneath me?"

Adam sighed. "It's the entire situation, Fenton. The timing of it all, and not just with Frank. All of them. I still don't get why, after all these years, they'd just let them all go. And the way they're doing it? It makes no sense! Emily Watson, the little girl in Texas, her ransom was paid to a disgruntled employee of her grandfather. They picked him up at the drop. The girl had been missing for three years, and this guy was laid of four months ago. He hadn't even been working for her Grandfather at the time of her abduction. So how does he fit in?"

"Obviously," Fenton said after a moment of digesting what the retired agent was saying, "he wasn't one of the original kidnappers."

"No, and now this tip about your son, Fenton? They were talking about your case down in Atlantic City."

"I accepted the case a week ago," Fenton said thoughtfully.

"Seven days and you heard nothing from the group of people you were after?"

"Not a word."

"You would think that if they wanted to use Frank against you-"

"They'd let me know they had him." Fenton finished with a sigh. "Honestly, Adam, I couldn't care less. No, it's not a neat little package and there are dozens of unanswered questions and loose ends, but I just want to get Frank home and in one piece."

Adam smiled and looked at the alley. "You're a father first, Fenton, a Detective second, and that's how it should be. Even when they're all grown up with lives of their own, you still want them to protect them."

As if to punctuate the statement, there came the staccato rhythm of gunfire from across the street. Almost immediately, over the radio in Cameron's hand, there came shouts. "Shots fired! SWAT team move in!"

Fenton paled and felt as though he was going to be sick. "Oh god, Frank!"

Adam put a steadying hand on the younger man's back as more shot rang out. For several tense seconds the shots echoed in the Brooklyn streets and then all was silent.

Then the radio crackled again.

"10-108! I repeat, 10-108!"

Officer down…!

HBHBHB

_Tuesday, March 26,2:10pm_

A dozen men with assault riffles at the ready moved surprisingly quietly down the narrow alleyway. Out of the sunlit afternoon into the dark shadows between the two apartment buildings. With a motion of his hand, Brian Younger sent teams of two up the fire escapes on both buildings where they took up positions and trained their weapons on the windows and the door to the back suite.

Once a custodians residence, the unit had been converted into a rental property with a separate entrance to the building. The alley was the only way to the suite, wide enough for a vehicle and far enough back to provide ideal cover from the street.

Brian had his service revolver drawn and at the ready as he and two members of the SWAT team crept down the few cement stairs to the door. He stood to one side of the door, the two men holding a small battering type ram against the door. The rest of the team waited in positions ready to follow Detective Younger into the residence.

Looking at the men with him, silently reminding them why they were there, he gave the nod and shouted. "NYPD!"

A second later, the ram pulled back and slammed the door open. The dead bolt tore from the door frame and the door chain ripped from the wall. The three men inside, sitting in a small living room, burst from their seats in surprise as their apartment was raided.

The men were armed and all hell broke loose!

Brian was forced beside the refrigerator as several rounds exploded into the drywall next to him. Through the radio ear piece he could hear the commander of the SWAT team ordering his men into the apartment as he spun around and returned fire. As he ducked back he saw the tallest of the men spring out from behind the sofa he had been staking cover behind and run down a small hallway.

Without any thought of himself, Detective Younger sprinted after the man. His team covered him, pinning the remaining two men in the living room behind their furniture shields, as he crossed the tiny kitchen and into the hall.

Ten feet ahead a door lay open and pounding music filtered out. From inside, a dark light permeated the pale wallpaper in the hall with a faint glow. Brian moved quickly to the door and peeked around the doorframe.

The guy was standing at the foot of the bed, his gun pointed at the helpless form on the mattress. The boy was straining against his restraints, eyes wide with terror at the sight of the weapon aimed at him. The guy started to squeeze the trigger.

"Freeze!" Brian shouted, stepping into the room and pulling his gun up.

The man spun around, firing his weapon at the same time Brian did. Brian was the better shot as his bullet swept across the distance and into the man's chest. The man was knocked back against the foot of the bed and Brian fired again. Two shots to the chest and the guy was down, permanently.

The Detective was not unscathed though. The bullet had struck him in the right side and he stumbled to the floor next to the stereo. The pain was more intense than anything he had ever felt, but he still had a job to finish. He turned off the music and crawled over to the side of the bed.

On the mattress, the dark haired boy still fought against the handcuffs chaining him. His eyes welled with tears as he tried to get as far away from Brian as he could. Even past the bruising on the youth's face, Brian recognized him immediately. Those eyes, so like his father's, were unmistakable.

"It's okay, Frank" the detective said through the pain, trying to hide it as much as he could. "I'm Detective Younger with the NYPD. I've been looking for you for a long time now." He reached toward the boys face and carefully pulled the duct tape off the boy's mouth.

Frank Hardy licked his chapped lips and met Brian's eyes. Tears traced a trail down his cheeks and his voice quivered weakly when he spoke.

"Thank-you!"

* * *

A/N: Yay! Frank's back in the story! LOL

Thank you everyone for all the reviews! I never imagined I would get the response I've gotten from this story. You've made it very easy to keep this story going. Thanks again, and keep them coming! -Liz


	9. Going Home

_**Chapter Nine: Going Home**_

_Tuesday, March 26, 2:55pm_

The entire block was cordoned off as police and paramedics converged on the area. Police barricades kept the public, and Press, on the opposite side of the street as they came out of the apartments and shops to watch the procedures. Even in New York City, events such as this were not an every day occurrence.

Fenton and Adam were escorted down the alley by Detective Cameron, the two fathers anxious to get to the suite at the end of the way. They moved out to the side as a squad car rolled slowly back toward the street, a red haired man sitting grimly in the back.

When they came to the stairs to the residence, they were greeted with a sight not that unlike a war zone. Bullet holes littered the wall inside the small entrance way, that also served as the kitchen and living room. A body bag was being lifted onto a gurney by the Medical Examiner, and Fenton noticed Adam stiffen.

"They're back here," Cameron motioned to the crowded hall.

The forensic team was just coming out, two men and a woman, each carrying evidence from the rooms. Weapons, money, voice distorters, even the clown masks Melanie had spoke of. Then it was Fenton's turn to stiffen at the sight of the bloody shackles.

A second body bag was wheeled out of a darkly lit room and Fenton looked in where paramedics were tending to Detective Younger. He felt the bile rise in his throat at the sight of the dingy mattress and cold iron framed bed. The isolation one would feel inside would have been overwhelming and, to know his son had been subjugated to that for God only knew how long, brought a rage boiling to the father's surface.

Adam Younger stepped into the room and to his son's side.

Fenton turned to Cameron who, with a knowing smile, motioned to the second door at the end of the hall. "We felt it best to move him out of the room."

Wordlessly thanking the Detective with a warm smile of his own, Mr Hardy hurried the few feet to the open door. A strange nervousness surged over him and he hesitated in the doorway.

Frank was sitting on the edge of the double bed, pale and tired looking, being attended to by an EMT. He was barefoot, his shoes and socks off to the side, so that gauze could be wrapped around the sores on his ankles. Similar bandages were now being applied to the bloody and broken skin on the boy's wrists.

Blood shot eyes turned upward, catching Fenton's misty gaze and the Detective saw for the first time the bruises on his son's face. His heart spurred him into movement, and the paramedic barely got out of the way in time before Frank was enveloped into his father's shaking arms.

Unabashed, Fenton Hardy wept. The boy he had thought lost to him was suddenly in his arms. The thought that another day would not go by without knowing where his son was lifted a sorrow that he had hidden from all but his wife. Now, the tears washed the despair from a heavy heart and for the first time in six months he felt at ease.

He held Frank at arms length, looking him over, and gently ran a hand over his son's hair. "Oh god! Are you okay?" He turned to the paramedic who stood beaming at the sight of father and son. "Is he okay?"

"The skin on the wrists and ankles are pretty cut up," The paramedic said gently, "but I don't think he'll need any stitches. The bruising will fade in a day or two."

"I kept trying to get away," Frank said quietly with a sniffle, wiping at his watery eyes with the back of his hand, "Every chance I got. Like you always told me to."

A mixture of pride and guilt filled Fenton's heart. Pride that his son remembered his lessons, and guilt because those lessons had gotten Frank hurt.

The EMT closed his case and smiled at Fenton. "He needs a few good nights of sleep, something to eat, and he'll be just fine. Make sure he gets lots of fluids, and if there's any sign of infection or fever take him in to the ER. Otherwise, I think this young man just needs to go home."

Fenton half cried, half laughed at the statement. Frank was coming home! "Thank you, I've been wanting to do that for months!"

The EMT smiled again and left the room, and only then did Fenton realize that Detective Cameron was standing in the doorway. A beaming smile was on the man's face as he looked at the pair. "You've had us worried, Frank."

"Sorry," Frank tried to give the man a half smile, but it faltered almost instantly and he looked to his father. "Dad, I want to go home."

"Detective?" Fenton asked Cameron.

"We'll be here all night collecting evidence, but I think we can get Frank's statement in a day or two when he's feeling up to it." The blonde haired man smiled widely and stepped aside. "We've got a car waiting for you. Take your son home, Mr Hardy."

Frank started to reach for his socks when Mr Hardy just scooped him up into his arms. Without a word of complaint Fenton carried his son out of the bedroom and into the hall, taking great care to block Frank's view of the room that had been his prison.

Several members of the SWAT team walked with them out of the apartment and into the alley. The Coroners van was just pulling out and an Ambulance was backing up as close as it could to the door. Detective Younger, strapped to a stretcher, was carefully brought up the stairs by the paramedics and a couple of cops.

"Dad, put me down." Frank said, suddenly very anxious. "Put me down!"

A little unnerved by the urgency in his son's voice, Fenton complied and was surprised when the barefoot boy ran up to the side of the stretcher. His hand touched the Detective's arm and Brian's eyes opened and his head turned to the boy.

"You okay, Frank?"

"Yea," Frank nodded, "But you got hurt because of me."

Brian smiled and shook his head. "Never. Besides, better me than you."

A visible shudder ran over Frank. "He- he was going to kill me, wasn't he?"

"Not on my watch," Brian said seriously, then looked up at Fenton who stood protectively behind his son. "I think you're pop's eager to get you home, kid."

"Frank, let the paramedics take the Detective to the hospital." Fenton placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

With a nod, Frank was picked up again and Detective Younger was lifted into the awaiting ambulance. Adam Younger smiled knowingly at Fenton before climbing into the ambulance after his son.

HBHBHB

_Tuesday, March 26, 4:20pm_

The unmarked police car cruised along I-495, every second taking them closer Bayport. The officer in front, a uniformed man in his early forties, kept his eyes on the road but couldn't help but listen to the two in the back seat.

After helping Frank get his shoes and socks on over his bandaged ankles, Fenton held his son as close as he could while they wore their seatbelts. Frank had started to doze off before they were out of Brooklyn, his head resting against his father's shoulder, but sleep was not easy for the boy. As he began to fall into a deeper sleep, he would jerk awake from the beginnings of some nightmare. Fenton would whisper softly in his ear, reassuring him that he was safe and going home, and stroke his shaggy brown hair.

For a few minutes the car was quiet. The only sound was the soft hum of the tires on the pavement. Tired himself, Fenton closed his eyes.

"Dad?"

Looking down at Frank, Fenton saw him looking straight ahead at the back of the seats with a perplexed expression. "What is it Frank?"

"How long have I been gone?"

There was a hitch in Fenton's stomach. "You don't know?"

Frank shook his head. "Not really. I- I know it's been a while, but it's sort of hard to remember everything."

Crestfallen, Fenton kissed the top of his son's head. The other kidnapped kids had returned with little to no memory of their missing time. He shouldn't have expected Frank to be any different, but he had. "Six months. It's almost April."

"Christmas is finished…" His voice was a whisper and Fenton wasn't sure he heard him correctly.

"Christmas?"

"Before I- I woke up in that room," Frank shuddered involuntarily, "I can remember someone saying 'Christmas is finished.' I guess if it's March I missed the holidays."

There was a lot he had missed, Fenton realized. In the short life of an eleven year old – No, Frank was twelve now – six months was practically a life time. It was only now that Fenton understood the adjustments Frank was going to have to make. It was going to be very difficult for the boy.

The rest of the drive to Bayport was made in relative silence. Frank continued to doze in and out of fitful sleep, finally giving up as they approached the city limits and just stared out the window. A few minutes later, the car pulled into the driveway of the two story house on the corner of Elm Street.

"Here you are, Mr Hardy," The officer driving said as he put the car into park, looking at the pair in the rear view mirror.

"Thank you," Fenton unclasped the seatbelts and helped Frank out of the car. Keeping one arm around his son's shoulder, Fenton smiled as Frank leaned against him while they walked the short distance to the front door. With one last nod to the officer as he pulled back onto the street, Fenton opened the door and led Frank inside.

There came a faint gasp from Laura Hardy when the door opened and they walked inside. She had been waiting at the foot of the stairs for the last hour and now her heart swelled at the sight of her son. "Oh Frank!" She was on her knees in a second as Frank bolted for his mother's arms.

The tentative hold on all emotions gave way to the relief and joy at finally being together again. Frank cried against Laura's shoulder and the woman whispered soothingly in his ear. "Shh, baby, you're home now. You're home."

Fenton watched the scene with a warm heart and glanced to the doorway to the living room. Joe stood there with tears at the corner of his eyes, watching Frank. Gertrude stood behind the blonde haired boy, a gentle hand on Joe's shoulder.

The minutes crept by, and reluctantly Laura loosen her hold on Frank. She smiled into the young man's face, tears of her own glistening on her face, and brushed the moisture from his cheeks.

Hesitantly, Joe stepped away from his Aunt. Frank noticed the movement and turned his head toward his brother. The two boys stared at each other.

"Hi," Joe said tentatively with a small smile.

Frank returned the shy smile. "Hi."

Joe suddenly leapt forward, wrapping his arms around Frank in a tight hug. Frank fiercely returned the embrace. Laura and Fenton shared a look between them, a look that said all was right once again with the world.

Wordlessly, Gertrude stepped back into the living room and to the bay window. With a prayer of thanks in her heart, she extinguished the candle flickering in the window and closed the drapes. The candlelight vigil was no longer necessary.

Frank Hardy was home.


	10. Puzzle Pieces

_**Chapter Ten: Puzzle Pieces**_

_Friday, March 29, 8:45am_

The water in the sink was a pale crimson color and Laura regrettably dipped the stained cloth again. Although Frank had not made a noise, she could tell it hurt him to clean the cuts on his wrists. He tensed every time she touched the cloth to the skin.

During the night Frank had to be taken to the Emergency Room at Bayport General. He had developed a fever shortly after dinner and as a precaution Fenton had taken him in. One of the deeper cuts on his left wrist had gotten infected and Dr Bates, the boy's physician for several years now, had prescribed a mild antibiotic to help fight it off.

However, now it meant that the bandages on Frank's wrists and ankles had to be changes several times a day to allow Laura to clean them and apply a medicated cream to keep them from getting infected again.

She carefully dabbed at the wrist with the cloth. "You know," Laura said softly as she gently worked, "you don't have to do this today."

The muscles in Frank's arm were sense, but he spoke surprisingly steady. "I just want to get it over with."

A sad smile formed on her lips as she studied her son. A weariness was in his dark eyes, accentuated by dark circles beneath them. She knew he was having trouble falling asleep, even though he hadn't said anything, and when exhaustion finally won he was plagued by nightmares.

Unlike Joe, however Frank shouldered the disturbing dreams in silence. He would wake without a sound, whereas Joe was prone to crying out. The two did share one trait, though, and even after six months apart it hadn't changed. Whenever one was upset, he would seek out his brother for comfort. The last two mornings she had found Frank sleeping in Joe's bed with his brother.

The doorbell rang then and she heard Frank inhale deeply. He knew who it was and despite his insistence, he was apprehensive about the next few hours.

Laura finished wrapping his wrists and lifted his chin to look into his eyes. "You stop whenever you need to, alright? And remember your Father and I are right here for you."

Frank nodded and exited the bathroom with his mother right behind him. Fenton was just showing the handful of people into the living room when Laura and Frank came down the stairs.

"Detective Younger!" Laura exclaimed, seeing the man on a pair of crutches. She walked over to him and gave him a careful hug and kiss on the cheek. "What are you doing out of the hospital?"

"I couldn't keep him away," Detective Cameron said with a wry grin.

Brian smiled at Laura then turned the smile to Frank who stood shyly in the doorway. "I wanted to see how you were doing, Frank."

"I'm okay," the quiet answer came.

Fenton walked over to his son and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure about this, Frank?"

Frank nodded and let himself be led into the living room and to the sofa. He sat between his parents and watched as Detective Cameron helped his partner into a chair. Frank glanced at the others in the room curiously.

Noticing the look, Fenton started the introductions. "Frank, you know Detectives Younger and Cameron, but this is Agents Grant-"

"Hello Frank," a woman in her early thirties, with blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and dull green eyes, greeted.

"And Locke with the FBI."

A slightly overweight man also in his thirties, with brown eyes and lacklustre greying hair, nodded. "Hello."

"This is Dr Younger, Detective Younger's father."

Adam stepped forward and offered his hand to Frank. "I was working for the FBI on your case before I retired."

Frank uncertainly shook the man's hand. "Hi."

Once everyone was seated a sudden tension seemed to fill the room. No one spoke at first, but there eyes were all looking to Frank. The boy shrunk back into the sofa, aware of their eyes and feeling very anxious and a little frightened.

Agent Grant cleared her throat. "Frank, I know this isn't going to be easy for you. We can take a break whenever you need to, or if you want we can stop all together. We'll only go as far as you want to, does that sound okay to you?"

Afraid that his voice would betray him, Frank just nodded. His mother put an arm around his shoulders and he felt his father give his arm a gentle squeeze.

Agent Grant smiled reassuringly and Locke got up from his chair. "Okay Frank. We'd like to video tape your statement, with your permission of course. This way, when the men who did this to you go to trial you don't have to be there. We can just use the video tape instead. Is that alright?"

Frank glanced over at Locke who was retrieving a video camera from a case on the other side of the room. "They're dead, aren't they?"

Laura and Fenton exchanged worried looks.

"Yes," Grant said slowly, "Two of them were shot and killed, but one was apprehended. Once you tell us your story of what happened we'll know what he'll be charged with and then its up to the judge what happens to him."

"Oh," Frank took a shuddering breath and nodded. "If it's important, then okay. I guess."

"Thank you, Frank." Grant nodded to Locke and the man set up the tripod and camera, focussing the lens on Frank. When the camera was recording, Locke nodded to Grant and she turned back to Frank. "I'll ask you some questions, and try to be as detailed as you can when you answer them. If you can't remember, that's all right. Just say so and I'll ask something else. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay," She smiled again. "Let's start with something simple. You were at the University for a Government Sponsored Psychology Study, why was that?"

"I don't know. I took one of those tests that everyone in the state has to take. I got a pretty high mark and the Principal in my school said the study was just to observe smart kids."

"So you're a pretty smart guy then."

Frank shrugged. "I guess. I just like to learn stuff."

"What did you do there, at the University with Dr Paulson?"

"At first we went on a tour of the building and some of the experiments they were working on. There was one that was watching people sleep, studying their dreams or something like that."

"And after the tour?" Agent Grant prompted when Frank was quiet for a few seconds.

"We went back to this big lab that had a bunch of tables set up with different equipment and stuff." Frank crinkled his nose as he remembered. "Dr Paulson told us we could work on whatever we wanted. Like if we wanted to just read, or fool around, or whatever, we could do it. My friend Phil saw they had come computers set up. They were really high tech and he was really excited."

"And what did you do, Frank?"

"There was a book of brain teasers that I started going through. Math problems, logic questions, that sort of thing."

"And you did that the whole time?"

"Mostly," Frank admitted. "I really like solving puzzles and stuff like that. They had this one puzzle box that was really hard. It took me almost an hour to figure it out."

"What was so hard about it?"

"There were seventeen pieces to it. You had to build a tower and base. The pieces fit together several different ways and you'd only know if it was right once you got the last piece into place. If you did, it stood up on its own. If not, it fell down."

"Your friend, Phil Cohen, told the police that you stayed behind with Dr Paulson to discuss an experiment you were working on." Agent Grant said. "If you spent the day working on puzzles, what experiment was he talking about?"

"There was a trick to the puzzle," Frank said with a shy smile. "All the pieces were there, and it was put together right, except it was still pretty wobbly. I told Dr Paulson that I thought she was missing a piece to the puzzle but she told me that was all she had ever had. She asked me what kind of piece, and I told her something the size of a toothpick. Really small. She found one for me at another table and I put it where there was a really tiny hole in the tower part of the puzzle. It stopped wobbling and she told me that was the trick. She said that very few people ever noticed that it was missing something."

Frank went very quiet then, his smile fading. He knew what the next question was going to be and it made him nervous.

"Frank," Agent Grant started gently. "Can you tell us what happened when you went to meet up with your father?"

The heart in his chest felt like it was about to explode and it was getting hard to breathe. Frank looked down at his hands, his eyes falling onto the fresh bandages on his wrists. "I-" his voice quivered and he cut himself off, afraid of loosing it in front of all these people and the camera.

"It's okay Frank," Laura said quietly, her hand rubbing his son's back comfortingly. "You're safe here, no one's going to hurt you."

Frank nodded and cleared his throat. "Dr Paulson didn't want me going down to the street on my own, so she came with me in the elevator. I- I heard Joe – he's my younger brother – and saw him with my Dad and Phil coming into the lobby of the building. I said good-bye to Dr Paulson and that's-"

He fell silent again, but this time no one said anything. Frank knew they were waiting for him and he took a deep breath. He was home now, practically surrounded by a bunch of cops and FBI. The bad guys had been caught and some were even dead. He was safe.

But he was still afraid.

"They came up behind me," He said, surprising himself at how calm he sounded. "One had my arms pinned to my side and covered my mouth before I knew what was going on. I couldn't see what happened to Dr Paulson, but I heard my Dad yell when another picked up my legs. I was carried to the stairs and it was really dark when the door closed. It was hard to see and I stopped struggling as they carried me down the stairs. I didn't like the idea of them suddenly dropping me."

Fenton had to smile at the sensibility of that statement.

Frank continued easily now, staring at an empty spot on the coffee table, lost in the memory of that day. "I head a door open above me just as we reached the bottom and I heard Joe call my name. I was scared that they'd grab him too and I knew I had to warn him away. I bit the hand over my mouth and when he let go I tried to yell for Joe to go back, but they covered my mouth again before I could finish."

Brian Younger listened with a new sense of admiration for the young Hardy. His concern for his brother had superseded the concern for himself, something the detective could understand completely.

"I heard Joe on the stairs coming after us but I couldn't do anything," his hands began to tremble and he clenched them into tight fists. "The guy holding my legs let go and I was pulled away from the stairs. As Joe came around the top of the stairs the guy grabbed his arm and at first I thought he'd be snatched too, but then.. he just flung Joe down the stairs. Just pulled him right off his feet. I saw him hit the wall pretty hard and I fought as hard as I could, but I just couldn't do anything!"

Anger had replaced his fear. The memory of seeing his brother lying there, hurt or possibly worse, was burned in his mind. No one hurt his baby brother! He felt his father squeeze his shoulder and looked up at Fenton's face. There was such pride in those eyes and Frank couldn't understand why.

"Frank, what happened then?"

At Agent Grant's voice, Frank turned his attention back to the spot on the coffee table. "I was carried into the garage. There was a van waiting there and a couple more guys inside. They pulled me inside and stuck me with a needle." His hand instinctively went to his neck and rubbed a spot on the side. "I think I saw Joe before the door closed, but it gets pretty fuzzy there."

Agent Grant smiled at him. "You're doing great, Frank. Do you need a minute or can you keep going?"

"Keep going."

"All right, but you'll tell me if you need to stop?"

He nodded.

"Did you ever see their faces, Frank?"

"No, they were wearing ski masks. Even the ones in the van."

"Did they speak? Did you hear them say anything?"

"No."

"That's all right," she assured him at the exasperation in his voice. "What's the next thing you remember, Frank?"

There was no hiding the flash of terror on his face, or the scared little boy that immerged when he finally spoke. "A puzzle."

"A puzzle? Like the one at the university?"

Frank forced himself to carry on. " No. It was metal and I had to put it together." His mouth was dry as the memory replayed in his mind.

"_**61 Seconds, Frankie-Boy. Not fast enough. Do it again."**_

"What was it Frank?" Agent Grant pressed when the boy remained quiet.

"_**68 Seconds, Frankie! You're getting slower, now do it again!"**_

"Frank?" Laura smoothed the hair on the back of his head. He was shaking now.

"_**Damn it, Hardy! Almost 90 seconds! Maybe your brother could do better, what do you think? Should we bring him here and see how he does?"**_

"_**No!"**_

"_**Then do it!"**_

"Frank, what was the puzzle?"

"_**49 seconds, very good. You can go now, Frankie-Boy."**_

"He needs a break," Fenton said, looking worriedly at his unresponsive son.

"Frank," Agent Grant pressed a little more forcefully. "What did you have to put together?"

"That's enough, Agent Grant." Brian insisted.

Frank muttered so quietly that even Fenton wasn't sure he heard him. The room went silent.

"What did you say Frank?"

"A gun," He lifted his head and the look of self-loathing in his eyes shocked everyone. "I had to assemble a gun."


	11. Missing Time

_**Chapter Eleven: Missing Time**_

_**Saturday, September 26, 3:20pm**_

_The arm pinning his own to his sides was incredibly strong and, despite Frank's frantic struggling, he couldn't get loose. He had to get to Joe! His younger brother hadn't listened to him when he tried to yell for him to go back, not that the hand over his mouth gave him time to say much, and now Joe was laying at the bottom of the stairs. He was possibly hurt, or even unconscious, and it was all Frank's fault._

_The door to the idling van opened quickly and he was handed to another masked man inside. The exchange was so quick that Frank barely had time to inhale, let alone yell, before one hand over his mouth was replaced with another. And now it seemed like even stronger hands now pinned him down to the floor of the van._

_His eyes flicked to the side when he heard the door to the stairway open. Beyond the masked man running toward the van, Frank saw his brother laying unnervingly still on the floor. His blue eyes were wide open though and looking straight into Frank's. He wanted to scream, 'Joe, I'm sorry!' but the hand kept him silent. He could only plead with his eyes that his brother would forgive him for getting him hurt._

_And then the van door slid shut._

_Alone with his abductors, Frank suddenly felt very small and very afraid. He fought against the grips holding him down valiantly, but futilely. He was helpless as they waited and a minute later the final masked man climbed into the front seat._

_Without a word, the van squealed out of the garage and onto the busy New York streets. Frank's chest was rising and falling rapidly with every frenzied breath, but he could do nothing but watch as the masked man with the grey eyes took a needle from one of the others. _

_Frank closed his eyes and groaned into the hand over his mouth as the needle pierced the side of his neck. A cold burning exploded beneath his skin and almost instantly his body went numb. _

_Then it went dark…_

_HBHBHB_

_**Unknown Date & Time…**_

"_Okay boys and girls, you know the drill. Sixty seconds. Ready… Begin."_

_His hands hesitated over the pieces laid out on the black velvet. _

"_Today, Frankie-boy!"_

_The voice was right behind Frank and he jumped slightly at the sharpness of it. He moved quickly to catch up to the others. Nimbly, his fingers picked up the pieces and fixed them into place on the barrel and slide of the Browning .25 Automatic pistol. The firing pin, the cocking indicator, the receiver. He turned the barrel a one third turn counter-clockwise, locking it in the receiver. With a flick of his thumb he disengaged the safety, released the slide, and replaced the magazine with a snap._

_The shadow of the man behind him peered over Frank's shoulder. "Sixty-one seconds, Frankie-boy. Not fast enough. Do it again."_

"_I did it faster than anyone else," Frank complained weakly. He knew objecting was pointless, but still he wasn't willing to give them what they wanted without a fight. "I started later then they did."_

"_And who's fault is that. Now do it again."_

_Scowling, Frank took the weapon apart, making sure to put the pieces onto the fabric exactly as they had been a moment before. He heard a stopwatch click behind him, and glancing back he heard the man chuckle. "Time's wasting."_

_Frank bit his tongue to keep the snide remark from passing his lips. He turned back and went through the same motions and had the weapon put together quickly._

"_68 Seconds, Frankie! You're getting slower, now do it again!"_

"_That's not fair!" Frank yelled. "You started the timer without telling me."_

"_Do it again!" The man roared._

_His anger and frustration displayed pointedly on his face, he once again took the weapon apart. "You want slow, I'll give you slow," he muttered under his breath. For the third time in ten minutes he assembled the pistol, taking his time in doing it this time._

"_Damn it, Hardy! Almost 90 seconds! Maybe your brother could do better, what do you think? Should we bring him here and see how he does?"_

_The blood froze in Frank's vein. "No!" The thought of his brother trapped here with him was a double edge sword. He would be with Joe, but then Joe would be in as much trouble as he was. And that was something Frank couldn't let happen._

_He felt strong hands grip his shoulders painfully and warm breath on his ear as the voice hissed, "Then do it!"_

_In seconds he had the weapon apart and, as soon as he heard the stopwatch start, his fingers were working furiously. In no time he was done. _

_The man chuckled. "49 seconds, very good. You can go now, Frankie-Boy."_

_HBHBHB_

_**Unknown Date & Time…**_

_Frank was laying on his cot, his arms crossed beneath his head as he stared up at the square window in the ceiling. Too many nights he had laid away, fantasizing about his Father or the police or the FBI breaking through that window to take them home. But as every other night, there was only the stars above._

_It was because he was awake that he heard the pair of voices raised in a heated argument in the observation room on the floor above the dormitory. He shifted his head to the side where he could see the outline of another window. It was dark in the room beyond, but occasionally Frank would see the crimson glow of a cigarette and knew they were being watched again._

_The voices were muffled, but when he concentrated he could hear bit and pieces of the argument._

"…_private funding! Don't need you…"_

"…_Communism is dead… obsolete now…"_

"… _trials are conclusive… theory works!"_

"…_Christmas is Finished!"_

_The window suddenly shattered, waking the others, and a chair plummeted to the floor. It bounced twice before it skittered to a stop at the foot of one of the other cots. The light in the room flickered on and Frank stared up at the two silhouettes that stood in the remains of the large window. _

_The cigarette flared again and the face of the smoking man was illuminated briefly, his fiery eyes glaring straight at Frank._

_HBHBHB_

_**Saturday, March 23, 6:45pm**_

_An electric guitar was playing the same melody faintly. Once, twice, eight times before the drums began. It was still quiet, but slowly it grew louder until he could no longer ignore the pounding. _

_Rich brown eyes fluttered open, Frank's vision hazy and thick as though looking through an empty glass. He blinked a few times against the darkness, wincing as a violet light flickered on over head. The shadow of a man was standing against the faint light, arms stretched above his head as he screwed the light bulb into the fixture. _

_His back was stiff, and he shifted on the lumpy mattress he was laying on. He heard the jangle of metal against metal and felt a tug against his wrists. Frank's heart beat increased as he realized the position he lay in, stretched out on his back with his arms above his head. He tilted his head back, looking at the pinch he had felt a moment ago against his arm._

_Fear started to overtake him at the sight of the handcuffs chaining him to the metal frame of the headboard above him. His breath came in ragged gasps as he pulled on the restraints. The sudden noise alerted the man in the room with him and the shadow turned around to face him._

_**hush little baby, don't say a word**_

_**and never mind that noise you heard**_

_**it's just the beast under your bed,**_

_**in your closet, in your head**_

_The lyrics of the song burned into his memory as did the face that looked down at Frank with empty grey eyes. The puff of red hair stuck out in all directions, the skull-white face glowing in the black light hanging from the ceiling. The lips didn't move when the artificial voice sounded, the latex mask hiding the true face beneath._

"_Welcome back to the land of the living, young Hardy."_

_Frank screamed._

_The grotesque clown was on him in a second, a leather gloved hand silencing his scream. "Ah ah ah," The voice said, sounding unnervingly like Darth Vader, "There will be none of that now. We need to have a talk, but I can't have you screaming again. Can I trust you to be quiet, or should I gag you?"_

_He was panting beneath the hand, desperately trying to will the nightmare away. But he wasn't dreaming. Frank shook his head as much as he could under the fierce grip and slowly the hand was taken away from his mouth._

"_Good boy," The clown said its mechanical voice. "I'm sure this is all very confusing for you, Frank, but I assure you it'll all be over very soon."_

"_Wh-who are you?" Frank managed to stutter against his rising panic._

"_That's not important," came the answer. The clown sat on the edge of the mattress and tested the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. "I do regret it coming to this, Frank, but your Father wouldn't have it any other way."_

"_My Dad?" Of course it had to do with his Dad! One of the greatest Detectives in the country Fenton Hardy had made a number of enemies and if he was working on an important case it was possible the criminals would come after his family. His Dad had warned him and Joe about that possibility several times when he was working dangerous cases, but he couldn't remember his Dad saying anything to him recently._

"_You could have just gone home if he stopped pushing the investigation," the Clown explained. "I shouldn't even be telling you this, but I like you Frank. You're a good kid, and shouldn't have to deal with this."_

"_Then let me go home now and I won't have to."_

_The clown laughed, and with his distorted voice is was a terrifying sound. Frank cringed at the sound but the man beneath the mask didn't seem to notice. "Smart ass," the clown ruffled Frank's dark hair and got up from the bed. "Just cooperate with us, Frank, and this will be painless for everyone."_

"_Easy for you to say," Frank jerked his wrists, clanging the cuffs against the bed frame. _

"_I suppose I do have the better deal in this," The clown bent down and picked something up from the floor next to the bed. _

_Frank watched as the clown tilted a brown glass bottle against a thick cloth. The bottle was closed and before he could wonder what it was for, the cloth was pressed tightly over his mouth and nose. The chemical on the rag burned his throat and nostrils and he twisted his head to the side trying to get away from the fabric._

_His head was spinning and his vision was blurring again. As the darkness overwhelmed the last thing he saw was the glowing clown mask grinning malevolently over him._

* * *

A/N: Lyrics from "Enter Sandman" by Metallica (The Black Album, 1991)

If you want to see an picture of the clown I used for the masks, do a Google Image search for 'Pennywise the Clown'


	12. Promises Made

_**Chapter Twelve: Promises Made**_

_Friday, March 29, 10:20am_

There was a stunned silence in the room. Guided by the questions Agent Grant asked, Frank had begun to describe in great detail what had happened to him. There were gaping holes in his memory of the last six months, and this worried his parents greatly, but they were more worries about the effect the entire ordeal was having on him.

He sat rigidly on the sofa, his body shivering. His eyes were staring straight ahead, not seeing anyone or anything except for the images that were conjured by his memory.

Frank swallowed hard and suddenly bolted from the sofa. Laura was right behind him, following him as he ran into the bathroom across from Fenton's office. He was on his knees as soon as he was through the door, what little breakfast he had eaten vomited into the toilet. Laura crouched beside her son, rubbing his back as he heaved again. "Oh, baby…"

In the living room, Locke turned off the camera with a dazed expression on his face. Agent Grant looked apologetically down the hall where they could hear the boy getting sick. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pushed him."

"No, you shouldn't have." Fenton agreed with a low growl. He craned his head to look down the hall and sighed when his wife closed the door to the bathroom. "It's too soon. He hasn't been home two days yet and now he's having to relive what he's gone through. He's not sleeping, barely eating, and now he's fighting an infection." He shook his head and stood from the sofa. "I'm sorry you came all this way, but now is not the time for this."

Agent Grant followed suit and stood. "Mr Hardy, please-"

"He's right," Brian said from his chair. "You've got more than enough to charge the one we arrested without putting Frank through this right now. You just want to see if you can push Frank to remember more of where he's been the last six months."

"Detective Younger," Locke spoke hesitantly, "Mr Hardy, there is more to this than the three we nabbed in New York. Now we've got more from Frank in the last hour than we have from any of the other recovered children. The more we know, the quicker we can go after those actually responsible."

"I will not let you use my son as a source of information!" Fenton roared.

"Please understand, Mr Hardy," Agent Grant tried to calm the situation. "These people who took your son are very dangerous individuals. For all we know, they will come after him again."

"No."

The adults in the room turned at the sudden objection. Frank stood in the hallway, Laura's hands on his shoulders, his face pale and pasty. Even at a distance they could see him shaking and his expression was grim.

Agent Grant took a step forward. "Frank-"

"They won't come again," He snapped, retreating as far back against his mother as he could. "They said they wouldn't. Not if you left them alone."

Agent Locke turned the camera on and aimed it at Frank.

Laura put her arms protectively around Frank and glared at the agent with the camera. "Turn that off immediately! Just who the hell do you think you are?!"

"Mrs Hardy," Grant said firmly, "your son knows things that are very important to this investigation."

"I don't give a damn about your investigation," Laura snapped.

"Frank needs to tell us what else he remembers," Locke added, keeping the camera on the boy. "We need to know what he knows or else these people will get away with what they did to all those kids."

"No, what you need is to understand that Frank is in no condition to be doing this right now." Fenton growled.

Frank rolled his eyes, his fears starting to calm at the absurdity of it all. "Hey, if you guys want to stand here arguing all day that's fine by me. But I'm not feeling that great right now so I'm going to go lay down before I yak on someone."

Detective Cameron chuckled softly, and Adam grinned at the boys response. Brian caught Frank's eyes as he walked out of the living room and Brian nodded his approval. Frank gave a shy smile and was climbing the stairs.

"I believe," Mrs Hardy said forcefully, "That will be all, Agents."

-HBHBHB-

_Friday, March 29, 1:00pm_

If it was even possible, Frank was looking even more exhausted when he came back down stairs. Fenton noted the paleness of his son's complexion hadn't improved and he doubted Frank had gotten any rest.

"Everyone gone?" Frank asked as he sat next to his father on the sofa.

"The Youngers and Detective Cameron left about half an hour ago," Fenton said, closing the file he was looking through before Frank could see what was inside. "Your mother invited them to stay for lunch."

"Oh."

"Are you hungry?" Mr Hardy put an arm around Frank's shoulder and the boy leaned in to him. "I think there's some chowder left."

Frank shook his head. "No, not really. Stomach's still bugging me." He slowly reached for the file on his father's lap and touched the folder. "This about me?"

It always amazed Fenton at how perceptive his eldest was. "It's just some information that Detective Younger gave me to look over."

"What's it say?"

"It's not important."

"Dad," Frank lifted his head and looked up at his father with a wearied sigh. "If it wasn't important, you'd tell me. If it's about me, and what happened, I think I should be able to know what it says."

Fenton raised an eyebrow, curious about the young man that sat next to him and wondering where his little boy had gone. "If you're sure."

With a nod, Frank slipped the folder from under Fenton's hand and onto his own lap. He flicked it open and stiffened. Pictures of his wrists and ankles still entrapped in the handcuffs were on the top of the pile. He knew the police needed the pictures for evidence, but it still bothered him to see them. He hurriedly turned them over and looked through a few more pictures of the room he had been held before stopping on a mug-shot.

The tips of his fingers touched the photo, tracing the man's brown eyes. Frank's forehead wrinkled and he turned over the picture to look at another mug-shot. The eyes were blue and he searched through the papers and pictures until he found the third mug-shot. Another set of brown eyes stared back at him.

Fenton watched his son with an investigators eyes. The look on the boys face was haunting, and it was obvious he was searching for something – someone – but couldn't find it. "Frank?"

"These were the guys in the apartment?" Frank asked in a whisper. "The only ones?"

"There was just the three of them," Fenton confirmed. "Two of them were killed, you know that."

"No," Frank shook his head and the file fell from his lap onto the floor. "There were four."

_**sleep with one eye open**_

_**gripping your pillow tight**_

"It's the eyes," Frank told his Dad, trying to stop the dread that was clutching at his chest. "The one that talked to me, he had grey eyes."

Fenton picked up the file, keeping it closed, and set it on the coffee table. The missing element, he knew, was somewhere inside his son's memory. A memory Fenton would do anything to keep from having to surface, but to catch the people responsible he would have to pull that memory forward.

"Dad?" Frank's frightened voice stopped him before he could begin the questions. "Dad, leave it alone. Okay?"

The request was the last thing Fenton had been expecting. "I may not agree with their methods, Son, but I know they FBI is right. You know it too. These people, the ones who did this to you, have to be found and they have to pay the price. They can't get away with it."

"Yes they can!" Frank was close to tears. The razors edge on which he had been treading ever since he had woke up in that dark room was beginning to cut. "I only remember the eyes, Dad. Eyes and voices. I can't see their faces, I can't see where I am, I just know that I don't want to go back there!"

Fenton put a comforting hand on Frank's knee, but the boy jerked away like he'd been shocked. "Frank, no one's going to take you again. I won't let that happen."

"Like you stopped them the first time?" The accusation hit home and Frank knew it. He didn't want to hurt his dad, but he had to make him understand. "Dad, please! You were right there when they took me, and you couldn't stop them. The only reason I'm sitting here now is because they told you where I was."

"No," Fenton snapped angrily, not at his son but at the truth behind the boys words.

"Yes," Frank shuddered at what he was about to say. "He told me, dad, right after the other ones beat me up. He chained me, he gagged me, he made sure I knew I wasn't going anywhere. And then he said it was going to be over. I thought he meant he was going to kill me, but instead he said they were going to let you know where I was. But he made me a promise. If you kept investigating, he'd come back. And not just for me this time. They'd take Joe too."

He wiped at the tears that had escaped his control. Fenton was silent so Frank carried on. "Dad, I can't remember what happened in the past six months. I don't think I really want to. But I remember the only reason I cooperated with them at all was to keep Joe safe. I'd rather still be handcuffed to that bed, black and blue from head to toe, than have Joe go through it again."

"Again…" Fenton finally understood what Frank was eluding to. The Nightingales.

"Dad, please," Frank put a hand on his dad's arm to get Fenton's attention. Slowly, Fenton turned to his son. "If not for me," Frank was saying, "then for Joe. Let this one go, Dad."

The investigator in him shattered, leaving only the father, and Fenton pulled Frank into a fierce hug. "No, Frank, not for Joe. For you. Dear god, I swear I won't give them a reason to come after you again!"

* * *

A/N: Uh oh... I'm starting to see an end to this... which is YAY!! I've never finished something before! lol

Reviews please? You're turning me into a review junky! Don't make me go through withdrawl!


	13. The Storm

_**Chapter Thirteen: The Storm**_

_Tuesday, April 09, 5:20pm_

"That was Principal Woodrow," Fenton explained as he sat back at the dinner table. Overhead thunder rumbled and the rain came down heavily on the roof.

"Whatever it was, I didn't do it!" Joe exclaimed suddenly. There was a soft ripple of laughter from the table and Joe smiled at his joke. It had even garnered a chuckle from Frank.

"You're not in trouble," Fenton smirked at his youngest's antics. "That phone call was about Frank."

"About when I can go back to school?" Frank asked eagerly, a hint of his old self showing through.

"Only you would be excited about going to school," Joe made a disgusted face and stabbed another piece of chicken on his plate into his mouth. "I swear, I don't know how we're related."

Frank stuck his tongue out at his brother. "You were adopted."

Joe covered his chest with his hand and gasped melodramatically. "And here I thought I was the milkman's."

Laura nearly spit her mouthful of food out at that comment, ending up choking on it instead. "Excuse me?!"

Fenton and Gertrude laughed at the light heartedness of the meal. There were moments, too few and far between, where everything seemed to be as it had been before. Fenton yearned for them more often, and treasured them when they happened. Yet he knew what he had to say would change it all instantly.

"Actually," He said in a serious tone, calling everyone's attention back to him and phone call he had just received. "Mr Woodrow thinks it might be best if you waited until September, Frank. You've misses so much of the school year already it would be very hard on you to catch up with your studies."

Frank narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Wait, what? They want to hold me back a grade?"

Fenton nodded. "You've just gotten over your infection, Son, and it would still be a couple of weeks before you're ready for school. It might just be better this way. Give yourself some more time to get acclimated to being home, slowly instead of rushing in to things."

"Hey, that means you'd be in the same grade as me!" Joe exclaimed excitedly.

"This is bullshit!" Frank practically screamed, his words accentuated by a loud crack of thunder.

Taken aback by his outburst, no one knew what to say. No one, except his mother. "Franklin Hardy, we do not use that kind of language in this house!"

"What am I suppose to say?" He shot an icy glare at his mom. "Gee, thanks for making me more of a freak than I already am?"

"You're not a freak." Joe said quietly, a little scared at his brother's reaction.

"No?" Frank sneered. "I'm just the boy missing half a year, who doesn't remember anything, and now I'm going to be held back a year! It's not fair! Just a couple of weeks ago they wanted to advance me to Junior High, and now they want me to spend another year in the sixth grade!"

"Frank," Fenton began gently, "It was more than a couple of weeks."

"Not to me it wasn't!" He yelled, pushing away from the table so forcefully his chair fell over with a loud clatter. "It's not my fault I can't remember! I'm the one who got kidnapped and now I'm being punished for it!"

"You're not being punished, Frank," Laura tried to assure him.

"It sure feels like it!" Frank's temper was flaring. "This sucks!"

"I know," Fenton said calmly. "It's not fair that this happened and you shouldn't have to deal with this, But-"

Fenton stopped.

Frank had stiffened suddenly, his eyes going wide with fright.

"_You're a good kid, and shouldn't have to deal with this."_

"_Then let me go home now and I won't have to."_

Without thinking, Frank bolted from the dining room. He barely registered his Dad calling his name as he flung the front door open and ran out into storm. He felt the hard rain sting his face as he ran, but it didn't slow him down. He didn't know where he was going, what he was doing, all he knew was he had to get away.

He cut across lawns, through yards, down alleys. Blinded half by the rain, the other half by his own tears, he didn't see the root sticking out of the ground. Frank's toes caught on it and he fell to the ground, knocking the air from his lungs.

Laying splayed out on the muddy ground, he stared up at the rain coming down. It splashed against his face and he closed his eyes, willing the falling water to erase the rest of his memory. It never happened, and he just lay there.

"That can't be very comfortable," a soft voice said from somewhere nearby.

Frank tilted his head back and saw a girl his age, albeit upside at this angle, standing on the back porch of a house. She had short blonde curls, bright brown eyes, and was wearing a black skirt and red blouse. Her hands were covered in yellow dish gloves, and when he looked behind her he saw the kitchen of the house inside.

"You make a habit of laying in the rain in people's back yards?" The girl asked, staring at him with an amused expression on her face.

"Sorry," Frank groaned as he rolled onto his side and got to his feet.

"I can see why you like it," her voice said with a giggle behind him as he started to walk out of the yard.

"Huh?" He turned around and blinked in confusion when he saw her standing off the porch now, getting soaked by the rain.

"Getting rained on, Silly," She said with a smile, her eyes brightening. "It's very therapeutic."

"I guess," Frank shook his head at the girl. "You're parents aren't going to like you standing out in the rain talking some strange boy."

"No worries," She smiled and walked over to him. "It's just me and my Dad, and he got called in to work, so it's just me home. Besides, you're not some strange boy."

Frank blinked again. "I'm not? I don't think I know you."

"You don't," She answered matter-of-factly, tilting her head back and opening her mouth wide to let a few drops fall onto her tongue. "I just moved here in December with my Dad. But I know you."

"You do?" This was a very weird girl.

"Mm hmm," She nodded and looked at him again. "See, I go to Bayport East Elementary, grade six. You're missing poster's up by the office. The current rumour is that you were abducted by a gang of international smugglers and were performing in a Chinese circus in Baghdad."

His face turned a bright crimson and he groaned.

"Hey, it's much better than the aliens theory."

"Aliens?!" Frank rolled his eyes and flopped back into the mud. "Perfect! Now I really will be a freakazoid!"

The girl surprised him when she sat beside him. "And why are you a freakazoid?"

"Because," suddenly feeling very self conscious, Frank clammed up. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms protectively around them.

"Because you were missing? Or because now you get to come back and listen to all the whispers?"

He sighed. "Because I don't get to come back until next year."

She wrinkled her nose. "They're making you repeat?"

"Yea," Frank nodded. "They say it'll be easier on me."

The rain was the only sound for a few seconds as she chewed his words over. Then she just shook her head and said, "Well that's bullshit."

He couldn't help but chuckle. "That's what I said."

"So that's why we're both sitting in the mud catching pneumonia?"

With a goofy smile he looked at her. "That's why I'm out here. I still haven't figured out why you're out here."

"It's not every day I see someone go flying into the mud in my back yard," She giggled. It was a soft sound that Frank found soothing. "It looked like fun, thought I'd give it a try."

"Oh yea," He rubbed his lower back which twinged a little at the touch. "Lots of fun."

"Can I give you some advice, Mud Boy?"

"Can I stop you?"

"No." She winked at him. "Don't let them. If you don't want to repeat the sixth grade, don't. From what I've heard, you're pretty smart. You've got lots of time until September, and there's always summer school. So, you don't want to stick around Bayport East-"

"-Don't." Frank finished for her. He smiled at her. "You're pretty smart yourself, you know that."

She smiled smugly and puffed out her chest proudly. "I know." She giggled and held out her hand to him. "I'm Callie, by the way. Callie Shaw."

He smiled and held her hand in his, shaking it gently. "Frank Hardy."

"I know."

HBHBHB

_Tuesday, April 09, 8:30pm_

"If you see him, call me. Please." Laura hung up the phone in the living room and shook her head. "The Hoopers haven't seen him."

Joe sat on sofa, leaning over the back of it watching his parent's frantic movements. His dad came out of his office wearing a frown. "Neither have the Cohens or the Pritos."

"What would possess him to run out like that?" Mrs Hardy exclaimed worriedly.

The front door opened and the anxious family turned their heads to the person who entered. Gertrude stepped into the doorway of the living room, pocketing her car keys. "I drove around the neighbourhood five times and wherever that boy has run off to, I can't see him from the road."

"I'm calling the police," Laura picked up the phone again and started dialling when the headlights of a car pulled into the driveway, illuminating the closed curtains in the living room window.

Laura hung up and went to the front door, Fenton right behind her. She looked out the narrow window next to the door and exhaled in relief. Opening the door, she watched as Frank was led up the stairs by a blonde haired gentleman in his mid-thirties.

"I believe this one belongs to you," He said with a small smile, pushing the dry and dirty Frank forward. "I found him sitting in the rain in my backyard with my daughter."

Mr Hardy pulled Frank into the house and shook the man's hand. "Thank you, Mr…"

"Shaw," The smile got a little bigger as he returned Fenton's handshake. "Bradley Shaw."

"Bye Frank!"

Fenton looked past the man on his porch and tried not to smile at the site of the petite, mud caked blonde standing next to the car, waving to his son.

"Callie, back in the car!" Bradley Shaw pointed emphatically. He turned back to the Hardys. "Well good night then."

"Good night, Mr Shaw. And thank you again."

Laura closed the door after the man was gone and turned to Frank. "Well, what have you to say for yourself Frank?"

"I'm not repeating the sixth grade." He answered pointedly.

"Frank," Fenton scolded sternly. "You had us worried sick! You can't go running out like that, not now. Not ever!"

"Look," Frank folded his arms over his chest, "I'm sorry, really, and I'll be grounded as long as you want, but I talked with Mr Shaw. He's a lawyer and he says that legally they can't make me repeat a grade unless my grades are bad enough that I have to. As long as _**you**_ don't let them."

His parent's exchanged looks, then his mom spoke. "Frank-"

"Hear me out," He pleaded, then continued without giving them pause to object. "I've got lots of time until September. I don't have to go back to school right now, but that doesn't mean I can still do my assignments and work at home. I could even take some classes over the summer if I have to."

"I'd be willing to bring his homework home," Joe said quietly from where he stood in the doorway.

Frank smiled his appreciation at his brother. "And I know you have to go back to work, Mom and Dad, but Aunt Gertrude is here and she'll make sure I get all my stuff done. She won't let me get further behind."

"No," the older woman said, a proud smile at her nephew wide on her lips, "I most certainly would not. And what's this nonsense about summer school? Why, I'd have you caught up to the rest of your classmates before the end of term!"

"See!" Frank exclaimed, turning back to his parents. "Please! I just want to get on with things, and if I have to repeat it'll stick with me forever. I'll be the only teenager in the sixth grade!"

Again his parents looked to each other. Fenton crooked his head to the side, a faint smile present on his lips. "They _were_ gong to advance him a grade," He said after a moments consideration.

Laura sighed. "We'll see what Mr Woodrow says about this in the morning. For now, get up into a bath before you get anymore grime on my carpets."

* * *

A/N: Just a little bit of fluff to show how things are moving on in the Hardy home. Not exactly smoothly, but it's getting there.


	14. Brothers

_**Chapter Fourteen: Brothers**_

_**Wednesday, April 10, 1:15am**_

_Frank lay awake on his bed, his arms tucked underneath his head. He had been awake for more than an hour now and still wasn't able to fall back asleep. He would have liked to get out of bed, but he knew if he did he'd wake up someone else and he didn't want that. Someone deserved to get a good nights sleep, and if it wasn't him it should be his family. They'd lost enough sleep over him lately._

_Instead, he just lay in his bed staring at his ceiling, or the lamp that was turned on next to his bed, wondering if he was ever going to sleep again. The lamp flickered, and with a quiet pop it went out._

"_Great," Frank's whispered groan echoed in his room. He tossed the blankets off and started to get out of bed when he heard something in the room. He stopped._

_**something's wrong, shut the light**_

_**heavy thoughts tonight**_

_**and they aren't of snow white**_

_A shadow in the darkness drifted across the room and Frank felt a chill creep up his arms. His heart began to pound in his chest. "Joe, that you?"_

_**dreams of war, dreams of liars**_

_**dreams of dragon's fire**_

_**and of things that will bite**_

_It wasn't Joe. _

_**sleep with one eye open**_

_**gripping your pillow tight**_

_It merged out of the darkness, coming at Frank so quickly he couldn't even scream as it pushed him back onto the bed. The skull white face glowed brightly, illuminating the room. The lips curled back from sharp, jagged teeth, as the Clown laughed mechanically._

"_Miss me, Frankie-Boy?" The face hovered over him, talonned hands holding his wrists painfully tight over his head. "I told you I'd be back, Frankie-Boy!"_

"_No!" Frank moaned in free, struggling with all his might. "No!"_

"_Oooo YES!" Grey eyes widened with glee at the boys terror. "He lied to you, Frankie-Boy! Daddy dearest lied to you and now you're all mine!"_

"_No, leave me alone! Dad! Help me!"_

_Still laughing menacingly, the Clown got up from the bed but the hands remained behind, holding Frank down. "Daddy can't hear you, Frankie-Boy! No one can hear you!"_

_A third hand clawed its way across his face and clamped down over his mouth. He felt more hands moving down his legs, inching their way like giant spiders, where they gripped his ankles into place against the mattress. He was immobile again, helpless!_

_The clown moved around him, turning his head forcefully to the side. "Remember what else I told you, Frankie-Boy?"_

_The wall of his room dissolved. Frank screamed against the hand at the sight of his brother handcuffed to a bed in a violet light lit room. _

"_This is your fault, Frankie-Boy!" The Clown hissed in the boys ear as he sobbed. "Your fault!"_

_Joe turned his head to look at Frank, the younger boy's face bloodied and bruised. Their eyes met across the abyss and Joe's voice echoed as he said, "Your fault…"_

There was an almost inaudible gasp from his lips as Frank's eyes snapped open. His heart was thundering inside his chest and his face was wet with tears. The images of his dream clung to him and he leapt from his bed and to the door to the bathroom.

He didn't bother with the light as he bent over the toilet and emptied his stomach.

"_Your fault!"_

Frank retched again, the tears still flowing down his cheek. When he had nothing left, he flushed the toilet and laid back. The tile floor was cold against his cheek and he squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to will the nightmarish sights and sounds from his mind.

Even with his eyes shut he could tell the light was turned on, and slowly he opened them. Joe was standing in the second door to the bathroom, the one that led to his room. His hand still hovered over the light switch and he looked down at Frank with a sad, but understanding expression.

"A bad one, huh?"

The older boy just nodded and forced himself to sit up. He wiped at his eyes as Joe came into the bathroom and sat beside him. "Want to tell me?"

Frank shook his head. "I'm all right."

"Liar."

Glancing at his brother, Frank chuckled grimly. "I suppose I am." He took a shuddering breath and leaned his head on Joe's shoulder. "Worse one yet," He said quietly.

Joe put his arm around Frank. "Do I need to get Mom and Dad?"

"No," Frank said quickly. "Just – just give me a minute."

He didn't need to ask twice, Joe just sat quietly with his brother as Frank got control of himself. "That Bozo again?" Joe asked when the last of the tears were shed.

"Yea," Frank sighed wearily. He was absolutely exhausted, but he knew he would get no more sleep that night.

"_Your fault!"_

A tremor course through his body and he pulled away from Joe. "I'm sorry," He said suddenly.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Joe reassured him with a small smile. "You're talking to the expert on nightmares here."

Frank tried to return the smile, but failed. "No, I'm sorry you got hurt."

"What?" Joe looked at Frank in confusion. "When did-"

"At the University," came the answer. "When you went down the stairs. You were hurt and it was because of me. Everyone gets hurt because of me."

"Oh that," Joe said as if it were nothing. "It was just a bump to the head and you know how thick this thing it" He tapped the side of his head. "And who's this 'Everyone' you're talking about?"

"Dad got hurt-"

"Only because that other guy sucker punched him when Dad started to go after you." Joe waved his hand dismissively. "Next?"

"What about Detective Younger? He got shot-"

"Because that jerk was going to kill you." Joe turned and locked his intense blue eyes with Frank's. "And personally, it could just be because I've never met Detective Younger, but I'd rather him shot than you dead any day of the week. That goes for Saturdays and Sundays too."

"Okay, so what about the guys that were killed?"

"They don't count."

"Why not?"

"They're the bad guys. Who else you got?"

Frank remained silent, turning away from Joe's gaze and stared at the grout on the floor.

"I thought so." Joe said triumphantly. He noticed Frank shivering and put his arm around him again. "Come on. I'm getting cold in here." Truth was, he was just fine but he knew Frank wouldn't move without proper coaxing.

Accepting Joe's help off the floor, Frank started for his bedroom when Joe grabbed his hand and pulled him the other way. "You got me up in the middle of the night. I'm not getting back to sleep right away, so you can come keep me company."

Not waiting for a response, Joe pulled Frank into the bedroom and the two lay on the bed. Joe left the light on in the bathroom, just in case, and the light played across the foot of the small bed. The smaller boy lay against the wall, giving Frank access to the bathroom if he needed it again.

"So who was that girl tonight?"

Frank was surprised by the question. He was expecting the third degree about his dream, but he realized he shouldn't have. He never pushed Joe to tell him his nightmares, so why would Joe do that to him. "Her name's Callie. She goes to our school."

"Oh yea," Joe said, stifling a yawn. "I've seen Iola talking to her at recess. She seems okay."

"She's really nice," Frank said with a yawn of his own.

Joe stared at the back of his brother's head. "You like her!"

Frank twisted his head to glare at Joe. "I just met her!"

"I knew it! You do like her!"

"What do you know, you're ten."

Joe paused, the teasing gone in an instant. "Eleven," he corrected gently.

"No you're not. You're birthday's March-" Frank cut himself off, mortified that he hadn't realized that the end of March had come and gone.

"It's okay," Joe said softly. "You didn't get a birthday this year so I didn't want one either. Beside, I got what I would have wished for anyway."

"What was that?"

Joe yawned again and put a comforting arm over Frank. "You came home, didn't you?"

Frank smiled, his eyes closing on their own. The room went quiet as the boys surrendered to their fatigue. Half asleep, Frank reached for his brother's hand and gripped it tightly. "Joe?"

There was another yawn. "Yea Frank?"

"Thanks."

"Love you too."


	15. Epilogue

_**EPILOGUE: Promises Kept**_

_Thursday, April 11, 2:30pm_

Detective Cameron and Adam Younger were standing on the porch when Laura answered the door. She smiled warmly at the two and welcomed them inside her home again. The woman would be eternally grateful to the two men who had been instrumental in bringing her son home to her.

"Hope you gentlemen aren't too waterlogged," Laura said, taking their wet coats from them. "It suppose to rain for a few more days."

"You know what they say about April showers," Cameron remarked with a grin.

She gave them both a quick kiss on their cheeks. "Fenton is in his office. Second door on the left through the living room."

"Thank you Mrs Hardy," Adam followed the young Detective through the familiar living room and down the hall.

"Come in," Fenton called after there came a knock at his door. He looked up from his desk as the two men entered. "Detective Cameron, Dr Younger," He greeted, shaking each of their hands cordially.

"Thank you for agreeing to see us, Mr Hardy." Detective Cameron sat in the chair that Fenton motioned to. Adam sat in one next to him and Fenton sat behind his desk.

"Of course," Fenton said sincerely, "So long as you're not here to get me to change my mind. I've taken myself off this case. I have my son back and that's all that matters to me."

"We understand, Fenton," Adam said, his tone grave. "But we have found some information, because of Frank's statement, that we felt it imperative to inform you of it."

"Mr Hardy," Cameron began, "You remember when Frank mentioned the phrase 'Christmas is finished'?"

"Yes," Fenton nodded.

"Several years ago," Adam took up the conversation, "I remember hearing something about a CIA project, codenamed Christmas. I wouldn't have even thought about it if Frank hadn't also talked about the puzzle box. His description of the box got me thinking and I've been going through some of my old files. "

Cameron took a file he had been holding and slid it over the desk for Fenton to look through. "It seems that in the early 1970s there was a program developed to identify and train sleeper agents to become future spies."

"Nothing unusual about that," Fenton said. "It's a common practice in espionage and warfare."

"Yes, that is true," Adam admitted. "However, their means of finding these agents was unorthodox at best. You see, they were identified through a series of questions embedded in standardized tests administered to every elementary age child. The sleeper agents weren't adults, Fenton. But children.

The papers he had been flipping through fell from Fenton's hands and scattered across the desk. "Children?!"

"Yes," Cameron leaned forward in his chair. "Children that scored high on the exams were then re-evaluated through a series of trials and tests. If they passed these tests, they were taken from their families for training by the CIA. One of these tests was a puzzle, exactly like the one your son described."

Fenton was pale as he regarded the two men. "Are you trying to tell me, that the CIA abducted my son and held him for six months before turning him over to a bunch of gangsters?!"

"No," Adam clarified. "The project was shut down in 1976. What we're saying, is that the people who did take your son employed the same techniques and tests the CIA used to target certain children across the country. Perhaps a rogue Agent, or someone who participated in the project."

"Almost all the children have been recovered," Cameron told Fenton. "Only three are still missing. But despite that fact, our concern is that they will come for them again. You can only imagine the time and resources put into something like this, and I doubt those responsible will just turn away."

"Mr Hardy," Adam spoke tentatively, "We need your help on this. If you want to ensure your son's safety, we need to find the people behind all this."

"No," Fenton shook his head without hesitation. "No, you don't need me in this. You need Frank. And I will not allow him to be subjected to whatever means you want to use to get him to remember something he doesn't want to."

"Mr Hardy-"

"My answer, Gentlemen," Fenton stood from his chair, his six two frame towering over the two men across from him, " Is no. I made a promise to a very scared little boy and I will not, under any circumstances, go back on that promise. If you want to continue investigating, you will do so without me or my son. Do I make myself clear?"

Standing in the living room, staring down the hall to the office, Frank Hardy could hear the voices coming from the opened door.

"Come on, Frank," Aunt Gertrude beckoned him from the dining room. "You've got a lot of work to get started on."

Frank just smiled. "Yes Aunty."

HBHBHB

_**Friday, April 12, 9:00am**_

_The man in grey stood off to the side of the room, a middle aged red haired woman next to him. "So, what's the verdict?" She asked in a hushed whisper._

"_It's over." He said emotionlessly, watching the man in the suit at the front of the room. "Hardy was given the tidbit about Project Christmas to see if further convincing was necessary. It's not. Frank did his job well."_

"_And what about the boy?"_

"_Could be a problem," he admitted slowly. "Some of the memory blocks didn't take. He has recollections of the events at the facility."_

"_Anything we should be concerned about?"_

"_No, nothing yet." He adjusted the tie to his grey suit. "He's being watched, and if he shows any indication of further memory he'll be brought in."_

"_And the others?"_

"_They're all being monitored, though not as closely as Hardy. We knew he might be difficult. The boy's strong, a fighter."_

"_What made him an ideal candidate." She sighed. "What about the three?"_

"_No sign yet, same with the Doctor. They've been flagged though, so it's just a matter of time."_

_The man at the front of the room motioned to the man in grey and he excused himself from his companion. Standing behind a podium at the front, he addressed those gathered in the briefing room. "Ladies and Gentlemen, as of this day, you no longer exist. Who you were is dead, and who you are is now property of this organization. You are the first of many who will be recruited to go against a new danger. A terrorist cell calling themselves The Assassins. _

"_You may call me the Greyman, and welcome to the Network."_

**To Be Continued…**

* * *

A/N: And that, as they say, is that! The last few days this story practically wrote itself. I just want to say thank you for letting me share it with you all. And yes, for those you know me from HDA, once it's cleaned up by my editor I will be submitting it to the Library there. I plan on taking a week to get my brain reset for the next installment, but that way I've been going you might see the first few chapters up in a few days.

Ciao for now!

-Liz


End file.
